


Impact Junkie

by Harleydoll



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Car Accidents, Charles hates himself, Cherik - Freeform, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is a Sweetheart, F/M, Graphic Description, Hospitalization, Hospitals, M/M, Mutants, Protective Erik, Self-Destruction, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harleydoll/pseuds/Harleydoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has a penchant for walking in front of moving vehicles. Erik wants to show him that he's better than his scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [撞击成瘾 Impact Junkie中文翻译](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273337) by [bunnytoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnytoo/pseuds/bunnytoo)



> OK. So. I've been debating posting this one for a looooong time. Like, at least 3 years. I wrote this as a way of working through some of my own mental issues, and for a long time I didn't want to share it. But things are better now, for me and for Charles at the point I've written to (spoilers: I love me a good happy ending). So here's my story, literally and figuratively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a Spotify playlist for this fic [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/marymordrake/playlist/5Q179LLg04ihXXOzQJgohP). I'll be citing tracks from it at the beginning of each chapter. Suggested track for this chapter: "Move You" by Anya Marina.

"Can we get this over with? I'm missing Days of Our Lives." 

"I never pegged you for a soap opera fan, Charles." Dr. Emma Frost uncrosses her legs and smiles humourlessly at her patient. Charles Xavier has graced her office with so many broken bones that she's not even certain he has any left. She still remembers their first counselling session with unsettling clarity, after the DUI that took his father’s life and left his mother drowning her guilt in a cocktail of vodka and pain medication. Since then Charles has made his reputation at the Northern Westchester Hospital as their resident Impact Junkie, obsessed with walking in front of cars, minivans, motorcycles, hell he even managed to get hit by an ambulance he called for himself a couple of years back. 

“You know there are only four channels here,” Charles is saying. “Besides, Stefano’s been murdered. Again.” 

Emma shakes her head and focuses on the present, on this 24 year old nutcase that threw away an Oxford scholarship in exchange for what amounts to an almost permanent residence in this hospital. Maybe they should start charging him rent. 

“How are you feeling today?” she asks, ignoring his sigh of impatience. 

“Well,” he says, lifting a heavily bruised arm to brush chestnut locks from his eyes, “I’m sitting in this deathtrap of an ancient wheelchair with two broken legs, a broken wrist, a couple of cracked ribs, and the doctors still think I might have a concussion. Oh yes, and I have to listen to you ask me that for the thousandth time. How do you think I feel?” 

“My, we’re in a snarky mood this morning,” Emma frowns. “Look, I know you don’t want to be here. But the fact is, this addiction of yours is getting worse, and you need to deal with it before I end up writing your eulogy instead of your prescriptions.”

Charles shifts slightly in the wheelchair, eliciting an ominous creak from its wheels. “First of all, although I’m certain yours would be very beautiful, Raven will most likely be the one to deliver my eulogy. But if you feel that strongly about it, I’ll make sure you receive an invitation to my funeral.” 

“Charles, that’s not the point.” 

“Secondly,” Charles continues, ignoring her interjection, “I’m not suicidal. I know what will kill me, and I studiously avoid it. And before you say what you’re clearly thinking, broken bones are not lethal. I’ve got eleven years worth of hospital bills and medical records to prove it.” 

“And each time, you come back with more and more damage,” Emma retorts. “The first time you came in after the crash, you had a couple of broken toes, and the doctors thought nothing of it. Now here you are over a decade later with three broken limbs, and by the way, no, you don’t have a concussion. I scanned you when Azazel wheeled you in. I repeat, wheeled, not walked. How are you going to up your game next time, Charles? How far are you going to go for your next fix?” 

Charles remains silent, fingering the stray fibres of his arm cast as he avoids Emma’s glare, but Emma isn’t finished with him. Eleven years, eleven years she’s dealt with him breezing in and out of her office, sporting broken bones and six-inch stitches like it was completely normal, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to sit idly by and let him keep up this idiotic “live fast, die young” routine. 

“I can’t just sit here and give you pills and textbook advice in the vague hope that one day, maybe, you’ll stop trying to destroy yourself,” Emma continues. “I’ve tried prescriptions, grief counselling, rationalizing, shouting, hell I’ve even tried blatant disinterest in the faint hope that this might just be an attention thing. But quite frankly, I just don’t know what to do with you anymore.” 

Charles drops the strings he’s been tugging at and slowly drags his eyes up to meet Emma’s own. “Then I think, Doctor Frost, that our sessions are at an end.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Because clearly, there is nothing more you can do for me.”

Charles wheels himself backwards using his one good arm and, with great difficulty, manages to travel the short distance to the door. When he glances back one last time, he looks almost remorseful, and then he’s carefully maneuvering through the doorway and into the whitewashed hospital corridor. Emma takes a deep breath and glances back at the open file on her death. XAVIER, CHARLES FRANCIS is printed across the top in large, bold lettering, right next to the outdated mug shot of a morose 13 year old, his usually unkempt brown hair obscured by the bandage wrapped several times around his head. She’d always meant to find an updated photo for her file, but, she supposes, his new therapist can deal with that. Emma slams the file shut and tucks it under her arms as she exits her office, locking the door behind her. 

~

Emma breezes into the office of Dr. Sebastian Shaw, head of the medical psychology department, and tosses Charles’ file onto his desk. 

“I’m done,” she announces, taking her usual seat on the leather Balmoral sofa adjacent to Shaw’s Gainsborough swivel chair. She still hasn’t figured out exactly how he’s been able to import such expensive furniture, but she learned a long time ago that it’s best not to question what Shaw really does at this hospital. 

“You say that every time he’s admitted,” Shaw smirks. 

“I mean it this time. Someone else can take him. I’m done babysitting Mr. ‘I’m not suicidal, I just like walking in front of speeding vehicles’.” 

Shaw slides the file towards him and casually flips through the first few pages. “Well, if you’re absolutely certain, I’ll re-assign the Charles Xavier case this afternoon.” 

Emma just shrugs and tucks a stray blonde hair behind her ear, trying her best to appear disinterested. “Fine.” 

“And,” Shaw adds, “I’ll have Azazel deliver the Summers files to your office for your perusal.” 

“The Summers boys?” Emma gapes at him. “The blonde one is a literal walking time bomb. My office is far from the ideal environment for those two.” 

“Exactly,” Shaw replies. “That’s why you’ll be relocating to the east wing for their duration of their sessions.” 

“Great.” Emma throws up her hands. “Well, I suppose if I have to choose, spending a couple of hours in McCoy’s lab twice a week is the lesser of two evils.”

Shaw stares at her. “You’re really serious this time, aren’t you?” 

Emma sighs. “Yes, Sebastian, I am quite serious. There’s only so long you can watch someone destroy themselves before it becomes absolutely unbearable.” 

“Oh I don’t know,” Shaw muses. “I find his case fascinating.” 

“Then maybe you should treat him.” 

“I’ll take him.” 

Emma glances up in surprise. Another doctor is standing in the doorway, a few inches taller than Shaw and wearing a black turtleneck underneath his department issued white lab coat. Everything about him is defined at sharp, unforgiving angles – the cut of his cheekbones, his slim, almost impossibly tapered waist, even the way his russet-brown hair is smoothed against his skull projects a hardness that Emma’s only ever seen in Shaw himself. She’s surprised her telepathy didn’t pick him up sooner, but to be fair, Charles has been taking up most of her thoughts lately. 

Shaw just flashes that devious smile of his and nods at the stranger. “Emma, meet Dr. Erik Lehnsherr, our newest clinical psychologist.” 

“Charmed,” Emma says dryly, holding out her hand. She scans his mind briefly as he accepts it, casually leafing through memories of NYU, his deceased parents, and, most importantly, discovering his mutation. 

“He also has quite the fascinating mutation,” Shaw continues, watching their brief exchange. 

“I know,” Emma says. “You’re a metal bender. And you don’t appreciate being spoken about as though you’re not in the room.”

Erik raises an eyebrow. “Then you’ll also know to stay out of my head.” 

Emma affords him a wry smile. “What interest do you have in my patient, Dr. Lehnsherr?” 

“From what I gather, he’s not your patient anymore,” Erik replies. “But to answer your question, I’ve been searching for a way to reconcile my previous experience in physical therapy with this new position and, from what I’ve heard about this Charles Xavier, this is the perfect opportunity.” 

Emma has to admit, she’s impressed. From what she’s seen in his mind, his attraction to extreme personalities and strong work ethic might just be what Charles needs. 

“You’ve racked up quite the resume for someone who’s barely pushing 30,” she says. “Not much in the way of clinical psychology, however.” 

“I’m still new to the field. And I told you to stay out of my head.” 

Shaw laughs and holds up a hand. “As amusing as it is to watch your sparring match, I have a meeting to attend, and you, Dr. Lehnsherr, have eleven years worth of medical records to catch up on.”

Erik steps forward to take the file from Shaw and gives a slight nod in return. “Thank you, sir. Dr. Frost, it was…nice to meet you.” He tucks the file under his arm and exits the office, leaving Shaw, Emma, and Janos alone at the table. 

Emma sputters. “What, you’re just handing Charles over to him?” 

“What’s the matter, Emma?” Shaw asks, his tone sickeningly sweet. “Regretting your decision already?” 

“No, of course not.” Emma attempts to regain her composure, painfully aware of both Erik and Shaw watching her. “It’s just a little…sudden, that’s all.” 

“I wouldn’t want you changing your mind again,” Shaw replies smoothly. “Besides, our favourite patient’s next physical therapy session is tomorrow afternoon. I see no reason why Erik can’t take over his treatment immediately.”

“What about Logan?”

“Didn’t you hear? His gruffness with Charles on Monday earned him three hours in the pediatric ward under the belief that he was a six year old girl.” Shaw chuckles. “Although the children quite enjoyed it, Logan has since sworn off telepathic patients.”

“It seems Charles has had quite the attitude this week.” Emma taps a manicured fingernail to her lower lip. “He’s usually so compliant.” 

“Yes, well he’s not your problem anymore,” Shaw says airily. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.” 

Emma stands and smooths the crease in her white designer dress pants, avoiding Shaw’s gaze as she leaves his office. She will not allow him to see her displeasure at being dismissed so curtly, or her concern for Charles’ erratic behaviour. After all, he’s not her patient anymore. She smiles to herself as she presses the button for the elevator. Dr. Lehnsherr has no idea what he’s getting into. 

~

Erik has reviewed all eleven years of medical documentation cover to cover. He spent most of yesterday afternoon pulling Dr. Frost’s old records and reading over her meticulously kept reports before moving on to the most recent x-rays and CT scans. The only thing he can’t find is a more recent photograph. The hospital doesn’t seem to have one on file, which Erik finds more than a little bizarre, especially since he Googled his patient’s name and nothing more recent than the original car crash came up in the search. 

The door to Erik’s tiny office opens and Azazel wheels in a sullen looking Charles Xavier exactly on time. 

“He’s all yours,” Azazel grumbles, affording Erik a quick nod before teleporting from the room, leaving a cloud of dark smoke in his wake. Erik starts at the demonic mutant’s abrupt departure, but Charles appears unperturbed. Despite the numerous injuries, or perhaps because of them, Charles Xavier is an imposing young man. He sits perfectly straight in his wheelchair, though Erik notes that his posture seems a little too rigid, and his unnaturally bright blue eyes pierce directly into Erik’s own. 

Unlike Dr. Frost’s icy touch, Charles’ telepathic intrusion is warm and curious, seeking permission even as he dives in and takes what he wants. 

“I’d prefer if you left my mind alone,” Erik says. 

Charles pauses his browsing, but doesn’t release his hold. “Why? You know everything about me from my files. It’s only fair that I am afforded the same courtesy.” He presses on a bit further, finding everything that Dr. Frost had and more, before he withdraws, apparently satisfied for now. 

“You could have just asked, you know.”

“Likewise,” Charles replies. “I see you’re taking over my physical and psychological therapy. Shaw must be cutting costs again.” 

“From what I heard, you traumatized Logan and ended things with Dr. Frost personally.”

“And do you always believe everything you hear?” 

“Only when it’s true.” Erik pauses, considering. It’s a long shot, but he may as well ask. “Would you like to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

“Alright, then. Why don’t we talk about why you crossed on a red light in front of an SUV?” 

Charles shrugs. “The Camry ahead of it was crawling pitifully below the speed limit. Hey, here’s an idea,” he adds, before Erik can respond. “Why don’t you skip the preamble and sign my release papers so that we can both go home early?”

Erik raises an eyebrow. “And why would I do that?” 

“Because if you don’t, I can make you.” Charles taps two fingers to his temple. 

“You could,” Erik admits. “But you won’t.” 

Charles stares at him for a long moment, brow furrowed. “No,” he says finally. “I won’t. But I could make you,” he adds, mostly to himself. “I could do a great many things, if I wanted to.” 

“What exactly do you want, Charles?” Erik asks carefully. 

Charles snaps back to attention. “I want to get out of here. I want to see my sister, and I want to sleep in a room that doesn’t smell like antiseptic and starched linens.” 

Erik leans forward. “If that’s really what you want, then I will make you a deal.” He gestures to Charles’ leg casts. “Lift your legs up.” 

Charles glances down at his legs, then back to Erik. “Is this some sort of joke?” 

“Not at all,” Erik replies. “Lift them both – for a few seconds at least, mind you, I want to see some real effort – and I will sign those papers. Of course,” he adds, “you’ll have to get yourself here four times a week for your sessions.” 

Charles smirks. “Done.” He returns his attention to his legs, while Erik stands and walks around the desk for a better view. Charles’ certainty vanishes after only a few seconds and he scowls at the offending limbs before glancing up at Erik. “You knew I couldn’t move them.” 

Erik crosses his arms. “Try again.”

Charles glowers, but does as he is told. This time, he manages to wiggle a couple of toes. He exhales heavily and leans back in the chair. “I can’t do it.” 

Erik feigns surprise. “But I thought you wanted to get out of here.” 

“Do you even realize how much pain I am in right now?” Charles retorts angrily. “Especially after Emma had them take me off the morphine drip last night, probably out of spite.” 

“Yes, actually, I do,” Erik replies, ignoring his jab at Dr. Frost. “I’ve broken a few bones in my lifetime. Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he continues, using a tendril of his power to draw his metal chair towards him. “You’ve already taken the grand tour of my memories. Now then, let’s take a look at that wrist.” The chair slides up soundlessly behind him and Erik sits down next to Charles, who resignedly offers his casted arm. Erik takes Charles’ hand in his own, and is immediately distracted by the state of his fingers. Each one is disfigured and decorated with a patchwork of scars and fading bruises. 

Charles points at his slightly shorter index finger. “This little piggy went to market. And this little piggy stayed home.” He points to the middle finger, and then the ring finger, whose tip is bent in an unnatural direction. “And this little piggy got himself smashed in a car door twice in the same week and went crying all the way home.” 

Erik lightly traces the misshapen contour of Charles’ thumb. “How did this happen?” 

Charles lowers his eyes. “You’ve seen my records.” 

“I want to hear it from you.” 

Charles takes a deep breath. “Very well. My left thumb was an accident, if you can believe it. The first time, I mean. Body-checked at precisely the wrong angle during a lacrosse match.” 

“Lacrosse?”

“I was 15 and it was the only high impact sport that would take me. I was too small for football and rugby.” 

Erik nods. “And after that?” 

“After that I went through a phase where I was angry and violent all the time, and I ripped my thumb out of my cast in the hospital. You should have seen Emma’s face.” Charles laughs bitterly. “She was furious.” 

“And this one?” Erik touches the thin white scar outline the tip of Charles’ index finger. 

“Funny story, that one,” Charles says. “I was standing on a kitchen chair trying to reach my prescription pills- oh don’t give me that look, it’s not my fault my sister decided one addiction translated to all of them. Anyway, I lost my balance, I landed on my arse on the floor, and the chair landed on my hand, crushing my index finger. The entire thing just exploded outwards. I didn’t even do that one on purpose, but I was quite pleased with the effect. And look,” he adds, pressing down on the tip of his finger, “it’s barely got any padding now, and the nail grows in differently.” 

“You say that as if it’s a good thing,” Erik comments. “How about this middle finger?” 

“Smashed in a car door. Twice.” Charles refuses to meet his eyes. “Next.” 

“Hang on,” Erik says. “I get the impression you enjoy telling these stories. Why are you avoiding this one?” 

“It’s not important. The ring finger, on the other hand—”

“I’d like you to tell me about this one,” Erik interrupts. “Please.” 

Charles’ free hand grips the arm of the wheelchair so tightly that his knuckles whiten even beneath the bruises. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Charles,” Erik keeps his tone gentle. “We’re going to get through this, whether you like it or not. It’s long past time for you to face this addiction.” 

“You want the truth?” Charles’ gaze travels back down to the finger in question. “That little mishap had nothing to do with my ‘addiction’. It was the beginning of the injuries I would endure at the hands of my step-brother, Cain.” 

“He blamed you for his father’s death.” Erik frowns. “Why didn’t you speak up? And how many other injuries resulted from his abuse?” 

“Why do you think?” Charles demands angrily, his voice cracking. “All I am to these people is the ‘Impact Junkie’. Every time I get hurt, it’s because I brought it on myself. Cain would have just been an excuse to them.” 

“But if he started this right after the accident, before you were diagnosed with an addiction, you could have said something,” Erik presses. “Not to mention with your telepathy—”

“With my telepathy,” Charles interjects, “I could have saved them. I could have taken control of the other driver and forced him to swerve out of the way. I could have slipped into my stepfather’s mind and sped up his reaction time. Hell, I could have turned off his pain receptors, slowed down the blood flow in his brain to prevent clotting, the possibilities are endless.” He shakes his head and glares down at his hand. “I could have done so many things. But I was stupid and scared and maybe some part of me wanted him gone because he was just as bad, if not worse than, his son.” 

For a moment, Erik is at a loss for words. None of this was mentioned in Charles’ medical history, or in Dr. Frost’s reports. He can’t help but wonder why Charles would bring it up now. 

“Who else knows about this?” Erik asks finally. 

Charles starts and withdraws his injured hand from Erik’s palm. “I haven’t…I haven’t told anyone.” 

“What about Dr. Frost? Your sister?” 

“I haven’t told anyone,” Charles repeats, more firmly this time. “And I shouldn’t have told you. I don’t know why I…” he trails off and inhales sharply. “I don’t want this on record. If I have to I’ll make you forget. I can do that, you know.” 

“That’s the second time you’ve threatened to ‘make me’ do something,” Erik notes. “You know that isn’t really necessary. If you want this conversation off the record, then it will be.” 

Charles blinks. “Really?” 

“Really,” Erik offers what he hopes is a comforting smile and reaches for Charles’ hand. “Now, why don’t you tell me about that ring finger.” 

The corners of Charles’ mouth twitch, but he quickly suppresses the impulse to smile back. “Well, first there was the incident with automatic doors…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: That anecdote about Charles' finger exploding outwards actually happened to me in middle school. I fell off a bench in the gym, the bench fell on my finger, and the entire tip literally ripped open and "exploded". it's now visibly smaller and squishier than my other index finger, and there's a little white scar down the side of the tip.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Suggested tracks:](https://play.spotify.com/user/marymordrake/playlist/5Q179LLg04ihXXOzQJgohP) Alright by Aaron Sprinkle and Animal by Neon Trees.

The following Monday, Charles is wheeled into Erik’s office once again for their third session, but this time Azazel pauses and retrieves an orange prescription bottle from his pocket. 

“Your turn,” he says, slamming the container onto Erik’s desk before teleporting from the room. 

Erik waves the residual smoke away and looks from the bottle to Charles, whose mouth is set in a thin, hard line as he glares at the offending object. “Well?”

When Charles makes no reply, Erik sighs. “It’s the exact same prescription you’ve been given for six years now. What’s the problem?” 

“You increased the dosage.” 

“You increased the damage,” Erik replies levelly. 

Charles glares at him, but reaches over and swipes the container from the desk, knocks out two blue pills, and swallows them one after the other. 

“Do you want some water?” 

“No.” Charles tucks the bottle into the pocket of his grey linen pants. “I think I’ve got the hang of it by now.” 

“Then why didn’t you take them when Azazel asked?” 

“I have something to show you,” Charles interrupts, briskly changing the subject. “I’ve been working on it all weekend.” He wheels himself back a few inches and looks down at his legs. Slowly but surely, Charles manages to raise his right leg high enough that his toes are level with the top of the wheel of his chair, then lowers it back down again before getting to work on the other. This time he manages to lift it about half the height that he raised the other before dropping it immediately, his face flush with exertion. 

Erik nods, obviously impressed. “Very good. Not many people are able to regain mobility that quickly.” 

“I know. The girl in the room next to mine has been bedridden for a week with a broken ankle. I was on crutches the same day I broke mine. The first time, I mean,” Charles qualifies. 

“Well, we aren’t all as…experienced with broken bones as you are, Charles.” Erik opens his desk drawer and retrieves the release forms. “I suppose you’ll be wanting these, then.” 

“If you please.” 

Erik dutifully signs the forms and passes them across the desk to Charles. “And as per our agreement, you are expected to get yourself here for your sessions, starting tomorrow.” 

Charles nods. “I know.” 

“And you’re responsible for your exercises at home.” 

Another nod.

“And those pills you love so much.” 

“I can handle it,” Charles insists. “Raven and I do just fine on our own.” 

“And how does Raven fit into your questionable lifestyle?”

Charles almost laughs. “Oh is that what we’re calling it now? My ‘questionable lifestyle’? You’ll have to let me know how that one flies with Shaw.” He holds up his bruised hand to silence Erik’s imminent response. “Raven...doesn’t approve of my extracurriculars.” 

Erik smirks. “Extracurriculars?” 

“Alright, so I do enjoy a bit of wordplay,” Charles shrugs noncommittally. “We get along well enough.” 

“But not as well as you used to,” Erik doesn’t bother to phrase it as a question. 

Charles shakes his head. “We used to be so close, when we were younger. She always put my well-being first, even when I insisted otherwise.” He trails off again, a far-off look in his eyes, and Erik remains silent, waiting for him to continue. He’s read Charles’ account of how he found Raven, disguised as his mother, raiding their kitchen, and how excited Charles had been to discover another mutant like himself. 

“I was ten years old, of course I was excited.” Charles easily picks up on Erik’s thoughts and runs with it. “What they don’t tell you in the file is that I also telepathically convinced my mother that she had adopted Raven. That is, until the crash, at which point she lapsed into a coma that left her free of my influence and questioning every decision she’d ever made.” Charles fixes his steely blue gaze on Erik, gauging his reaction. “Raven was tossed out on the curb the night she regained consciousness, and if it hadn’t been for my own injuries, I would have gone with her. Instead my mother spent all her time in the bottom of a bottle and was too far gone to catch Raven moving back in a few days later.”

“And your mother never noticed.” 

“Raven’s a shapeshifter. She’s very good at not being noticed.” 

Erik nods. “And with your mother in rehab now, you and Raven have free reign.”

“Basically—wait.” Charles frowns. “You’re not going to have me out for using my powers like that?” 

“That’s not what I’m here for,” Erik replies. “Besides, you were ten, and you did what you thought was right at the time.” 

Charles cocks his head to one side. “You don’t think I’m to blame.” 

“I think you were a child, and a mutant child at that, who only wanted to protect your own kind. And clearly you didn’t do any real damage if a coma was able to relieve your influence.” 

Charles just shakes his head and looks down at his lap. “You place far too much faith in me, my friend.” 

“Or maybe you just don’t have enough faith in yourself.” Erik feels a twinge of pleasure at the way Charles says “friend”, and he hopes Charles doesn’t pick up on it. 

_Oh, but I did._ Charles step lightly into Erik’s mind, not taking this time but just… _sightseeing?_ Charles supplies. _This is my so-called gift. I can read your mind and anyone else’s whenever I please, and when I don’t. I can make you do virtually anything I want, from making a cup of tea to signing those release papers. My imagination is my only limitation._

 _And how does Raven feel about your abilities?_ Erik asks silently. 

_We have an agreement,_ Charles responds. _And by that I mean she asked me to stay out, and I agreed._

_Kind of like I asked you last week?_

Charles twitches at the accusation and immediately pulls out of Erik’s mind. “Sorry,” he offers quietly. “I just don’t know when to stop sometimes.” He gestures to his broken limbs. “Exhibit A.” 

Erik leans forward, resting his forearms on the mahogany desk. “I only have one rule,” he says, and Charles shifts uncomfortably under Erik’s gaze. “Don’t ever apologize for who you are.” 

Charles’ eyes widen in surprise. “I…what?” 

“You’re telepathy is as much a part of you as my metal bending is to me,” Erik continues. “You shouldn’t have to hide or apologize, especially in a place like this that caters to our kind.” 

Charles is visibly shocked by Erik’s words. “But…I just invaded your mind without permission and completely violated your trust.” 

“That’s not true.” Erik is adamant. “In our first meeting, I used my powers to close the distance between us. I don’t see why you can’t use your abilities to do the same.” 

“Entering your mind is a lot more intimate than pulling up a chair,” Charles points out. 

“I’ve noticed.” 

“And you’re perfectly alright with that.”

“If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.” Erik taps his index finger to his temple, and even as Charles shakes his head in disbelief, Erik catches a hint of a smile playing across Charles’ lips. 

~

 

Charles scarcely pays attention as Azazel maneuvers him from the wheelchair and back between the stiff white sheets of his bed. He’s still thinking about his meeting with Erik that afternoon, of the way Erik had looked at him, really looked at him, as a person instead of the freak that he knows he is. 

“Hey.” Azazel shakes Charles’ bottle of pills in front of his nose. “Are you listening?” 

Charles blinks and refocuses on the present. “No. Sorry.” _Don’t ever apologize for who you are._

“I said, take these ones with your supper later,” Azazel repeats firmly. “Janos will bring it for you at 6:30, as always. Don’t forget, _myshka_.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Did you take the other ones this morning?” 

“Yes.” Charles tugs the container from his pocket and sets it on the side table next to the other one. “Eri—Dr. Lehnsherr watched, if you’d like to ask him.” 

“I’d like to ask him how he did it,” Azazel mutters, scratching idly at his dark goatee. Then, to Charles, “Until tomorrow, then.” He nods and takes a few courteous steps backwards before teleporting from the room, black smoke dissipating almost as quickly as it appeared. For a moment, Charles remains still, watching the dark wisps curl upwards to the air vents, his gaze following the smoke as it brushes against the release forms still on the seat of his wheelchair. 

“Right,” he says to the empty room, pushing his pills out of the way to reach the generic beige corded telephone just barely within his reach. “Let’s get this over with.”  
He dials the mansion first, expecting no response, but his sister surprises him by picking up on the third ring. 

“Xavier residence,” Raven sounds bored, and Charles hears laughter in the background. 

“It’s me, Raven.” 

“Charles?” the laughter in the background is immediately silenced. “What’s up?” 

“My release papers have been signed,” Charles tells her. “Can you pick me up tomorrow?” 

Raven sighs heavily. “It’s been what, a week and a half? Have you even made it out of the chair yet?” 

Charles winces at his sister’s accusatory tone and glares at the wheelchair parked at the other side of the bed. “I…I can move my legs,” he offers lamely. 

“You know the rules, Charles,” Raven replies with a hint of annoyance. “You get a ride when you get your crutches.” 

Ah, yes. That infernal, ever-evolving list of rules that Raven put up on the refrigerator, of all places, once Charles was diagnosed with an addiction. Charles had no input on their conception, and they are definitely never up for debate. 

Raven takes Charles’ silence as an invitation to continue. “You’ve pretty much lived there for the past few years. What’s another week or two?” 

“I suppose.” Charles isn’t in the mood to fight. He just wants to go home, but clearly that isn’t happening. 

“I’ll come by and visit on Wednesday, alright? I’d come tomorrow but I’ve got six hours of class, so I’ll be on campus all day.” 

“Alright.” 

“Wow, that was easier than usual,” Raven notes. “Has Dr. Frost finally made a dent in your impenetrable armour?” 

“I’ve got a new therapist. He signed my papers.” 

“So you finally broke Frost? Way to take advantage of the new guy, Charles.” 

“It’s not like that,” Charles protests. 

“Well you can tell me all about it on Wednesday,” Raven cuts him off. “I have to go for now, I’ve got some friends over to cram for the psych midterm tomorrow. But I’ll see you soon. Love you.” She hangs up without waiting for a response. 

Charles drops the phone onto his lap, and nearly jumps out of his skin when the cord recoils and yanks the receiver to the floor with a loud clatter. “Fine,” he mutters. “You can just stay there and think about what you’ve done.” 

The cord sways back and forth for a moment, bouncing off the wooden leg of the side table, and then it lifts noiselessly into the air and returns itself to its cradle. Charles watches its progress before turning his attention to Erik, standing in the open doorway in his dark red button down and black pants, _sans_ lab coat. 

“I suppose you heard all of that, then,” Charles says, silently berating himself for not sensing Erik’s presence earlier. Luckily, Erik doesn’t seem to notice that he’s caught Charles off guard. “Eavesdropping on a telepath. Excellent idea.” 

“I came by to give you something before I left,” Erik explains, walking over to Charles’ bedside. “I didn’t want to intrude on your conversation.” Erik hands him a crisp white business card, and Charles glances at it briefly before waving it away. “I already have the hospital’s number on speed dial, and your extension.” 

Erik doesn’t retract the card. “This is my cell. In case you want to talk, or not talk, whatever you want, outside of here. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning, if you need anything--” 

“I won’t,” Charles interrupts. 

“Take it anyway. In case you change your mind.” 

“I won’t need it, because I’m not going home.” Charles shrugs. “I suppose I already knew she’d refuse, but I thought perhaps with the release papers…” he trails off, watching Erik set the business card down next Charles’ pills and take a seat in the generic metal visitor’s chair. “I don’t need another counselling session,” he remarks. 

Erik shakes his head. “You seem like you could use some company. Off the record,” he adds hastily. 

“The only company I want has just hung up on me.” Charles sighs. “I just wanted to sleep on sheets with an actual thread count again. Eat food that doesn’t all taste exactly the same every single day. Even the bloody jello tastes identical no matter what colour it is.” 

Erik smirks, earning an eyebrow raise from Charles. “Oh, you think I’m kidding? Raven and I might be terrible at cooking, but leftover chow mein is far better than what they’re serving here. God, I would kill for Chinese right now…” Charles clears his throat and glances at the clock on the far wall. “Anyway. Janos should be here shortly with some five star hospital cuisine.” 

Erik follows his gaze to the clock. “And that’s my cue to head out.” 

Charles sags against his pillows as Erik stands and walks back over to the door. “I’m sure you have better things to do than to waste your evening here.” _With me_ , he adds silently. 

“It’s not that,” Erik insists. “I just need to take care of something.” He disappears out into the hallway, leaving Charles alone once again. 

The minutes tick by at a painfully slow space, and when the clock finally strikes half past, Charles is mildly annoyed when Janos isn’t standing at his door. The orderly is always meticulous with time, but even as the minute hand moves at a snail’s pace from 6:30 to 6:40, there is still no sign of him. At 6:47 Charles is debating whether it would be better to starve or buzz for assistance, when he picks up on Erik’s mental signature approaching his room. A moment later Erik steps into view, now wearing a charcoal grey pea coat and toting an unmarked white plastic bag.

Charles tries and fails to ignore the familiar and enticing smell of Chinese food wafting into the room. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks, nodding at the bag.

Erik walks back over to the chair beside Charles’ bed. “I got enough for two. I hope you don’t mind.” 

Charles’ mouth is practically watering at the prospect of food with actual taste. “Then I hope you don’t mind that I’m terrible at sharing spring rolls.” 

Erik grins. “I think I can live with that.” 

~

 

“The Summers boys? Really?” Charles nearly chokes on his chopsticks. “I thought she’d be transferred to one of the other telepaths at the very least.” 

“Perhaps Shaw thought Dr. Frost could use a change of pace,” Erik replies, using the metal handle of Charles’ take-out box to gently nudge it upright with his power. Charles doesn’t seem to notice, just as he hasn’t noticed the last three times Erik did it. 

“Mm. Emma’s secondary mutation is diamond hard skin,” Charles remarks between bites. “It’s more likely Shaw wanted her to explore her other abilities under the guise of punishing her for failing with me. At first glance, they seem like a terrible match, but realistically she’s the only doctor that Alex and Scott can’t do any real damage to. Other than Shaw himself, of course,” Charles adds thoughtfully. 

“You seem to know quite a bit about their mutations,” Erik comments. 

“I studied genetics at NYU, for a little while at least, but it seems they don’t appreciate their students spending more time in the emergency room than the lecture hall.”

“I can see how that would be a problem.” 

Charles’ eyes flash. “I made an effort to stop, you know. I went almost two months without incident. Not so much as a bruised knuckle.” 

“And then?” Erik presses. 

“What do you think?” he sets the now empty takeout container and chopsticks on the side table. “But enough about me. This isn’t therapy.” Charles frowns. “Is it?” 

“No, it’s not,” Erik reassures him, placing his container next to the other one on the table. 

“Then let’s talk about you. Despite your electing to keep me company after hours, I’m sure you’ve got a life outside of this?” 

Erik shrugs. “You’ve already taken what you wanted from my mind.” The remark is more scathing than he intends, and Charles visibly flinches at the accusation. 

“I only scratched the surface,” he admits quietly. “Your recent conversation with Shaw and Emma, your motivation for taking me on as a patient.” He fingers a stray thread from his cast. “I wanted to see if you could be trusted.” 

“And?”

“And you didn’t even know who I was until you walked in on that conversation.” Charles meets Erik’s gaze, gauging his reaction. “You read through my records the night before, which is quite the task considering the size of those files. You even Googled my name, of all things!” 

“I was curious,” Erik replies mildly. “The only exact hit was the most recent crash.” 

“I know.” 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

Charles shakes his head. “I just can’t figure it out.” 

“Figure out what?” Erik asks. 

“Why you would want me. To keep me, I mean,” he qualifies. “After you discovered what I was like.” 

Erik just stares at him, painfully aware of the sheer self-loathing emanating from his patient. He doesn’t know how to explain the connection he feels to Charles, or his entirely irrational desire to assuage Charles’ addiction, not for his own professional benefit, but because underneath the bruises and broken bones, the melancholy and loneliness, Erik is convinced that there is far more to Charles than even he himself knows. 

Charles balls his free hand into a fist, becoming increasingly frustrated by Erik’s silence. “Do you really have nothing to say to me now? After all that nonsense you spouted this morning about not apologizing and letting me think that maybe you do actually care just a little bit—”

“Look,” Erik interrupts, leaning forward and clamping his hand over Charles’ clenched fist. “Take a look in my head and you’ll see exactly why I ‘kept’ you, as you so eloquently put it, because you clearly didn’t catch anything important the last time you dropped in.” 

Charles starts at the sudden contact, but does as he’s told and immerses himself in Erik’s mind. Erik pushes everything to do with Charles to the forefront of his thoughts, leaving every moment from the last week open to Charles’ exploration. Charles is timid at first, as though afraid to intrude, until Erik gently nudges him further into the memory of their first meeting, trying to make him understand. He never takes his eyes off of the younger man, or his hand from Charles’ now relaxed fist. 

_I don’t have anything to hide from you._

Charles blinks and carefully extracts himself from the memory, inhaling sharply as their minds are separated. “But…why?”

Erik almost laughs. “You really don’t see it, do you? You know, for a telepath, you seem to have a lot of trouble seeing what’s right in front of your nose.” 

“I can see just fine,” Charles retorts. “I can see that you…you care about my well-being, and unlike Emma you actually think that I can get better. That I can be better. But you’re wrong, because the only thing beyond the physical damage is even more emotional and psychological ruin.” 

“I suppose in time, we’ll learn which one of us is right.” Erik stands and collects the empty takeout containers in their original plastic bag. Charles says nothing, chewing on his lower lip as he watches Erik clean up and walk towards the door. 

Erik drops the bag in the hallway trash can, which is just outside of Charles’ line of sight. “Do you need anything before I go?” he asks. 

Charles shakes his head. “No.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “…thank you.” 

“See you tomorrow, then.” Erik nods and leaves, his shoes clacking noisily against the tile floor. 

“Tomorrow,” Charles echoes, his gaze falling on the now empty chair. A small white object on the side table catches his eye, and Charles realizes as he reaches over to pick it up that it’s Erik’s business card. He closes his eyes, turning it over and over between his fingers, succumbing easily to unconsciousness despite it being barely 9:30. When Janos returns to check on him an hour later, Charles is already asleep, the business card gripped tightly in his hand. 

~

Erik is getting extremely impatient with allowing the elevator to crawl up five floors on its own when Emma materializes beside him.

“With all the money Shaw spends on new office furniture, you’d think he would be able to get the elevators fixed,” she comments, eyes fixed on the light above the elevator doors. The number 2 flickered on with a ping as she spoke. 

“You’re working late tonight,” Erik replies, silently willing the elevator to move just a little faster. There’s an audible creak as the metal responds to Erik’s interference, and the 3 lights up a half second later. 

“As are you.” The elevator doors slide open and Emma gestures for Erik to enter. “You and Charles seem to be getting along quite well.” 

Erik suppresses a smirk as Emma follows him into the elevator. He doesn’t bother to select a button, but wills the doors shut himself and guides the elevator down to the main floor. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Doctor?” 

Emma sniffs disdainfully. “More of a professional curiosity. He’s been my patient for over a decade, after all.” 

“With all due respect, Dr. Frost, if you’re really so concerned about Charles’ wellbeing, you shouldn’t have dropped him on the first person that offered to take him off your hands.” 

Erik stops the elevator car a bit more forcefully than intended, causing Emma to teeter a bit on her two-inch white heels as the doors slide open again. He affords her a slight nod before leaving her alone in the elevator, willing the doors to close more quickly than necessary to gain some distance between them. He can still feel her icy claws attempting to sink into his thoughts, but he’s been too well trained for that. 

“Too obvious, Doctor,” he mutters, slamming mental doors more quickly than she can open them. 

_What are you hiding, Lehnsherr?_

Erik ignores her and makes a beeline for his car in the staff parking lot. Emma seems to retract the instant he slides into the leather seat, and Erik silently thanks Shaw for offering to upgrade the base metals in his car. He’ll have to be more careful around her in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2 of Mary Sporadically Updates This Fic While Ignoring Her Other WIPs! I wasn't going to keep that final paragraph with Erik and Emma but I've decided it can stay, despite the fact that nothing will really come out of that little exchange. Anyway, thanks to those of you who have been leaving comments and kudos, you guys are fantastic! Stay tuned for more dialogue-fuelled chapters!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally just edited this now as I was formatting it so hopefully it's a little less rickety now! [Suggested listening:](https://play.spotify.com/user/marymordrake/playlist/5Q179LLg04ihXXOzQJgohP) "FNT" by Semisonic.

“Raven is visiting today,” Charles comments, claiming Erik’s pawn with his own. They’re sitting at an outdoor chess table in Central Park, sunlight streaming through the trees overhead at a convenient and unobtrusive angle. The other tables are mostly vacant, with the exception of a few elderly couples that seem to be doing more sleeping than playing. 

“Do you play chess with her as well?” Erik captures the same pawn with his knight. 

Charles shakes his head. “She's always hated the game. And she’d never approve of me spending time in the park, surrounded by octogenarians. ‘Why don’t you hang out with people your own age, Charles?’” He mimics her exasperated tone as he moves his bishop into Erik’s knight’s path. “Check.”

Erik immediately takes the bait and replaces the bishop with his knight. “But you didn’t spend a lot of time here.” 

“No,” Charles agrees. “I was far too busy playing on the freeway to appreciate places like this. But as you can see, I have a very vivid imagination.” He removes Erik’s knight and places his own in the empty square. “Checkmate.” 

Erik stares at the board, searching for the opening that he knows doesn’t exist. “Damn.”

Charles affords him the smallest of smiles. “I’m starting to think you’re not even trying to beat me.”

“Maybe I’m too focused on you to pay attention to the game,” Erik replies. “Another round? I’m pretty sure we have some more time until your sister arrives. It’s hard to tell in your mind.” 

“‘Time can be funny in dreams’,” Charles quotes, much to Erik’s amusement. “That’s what I like about doing our sessions this way. An hour in real time can be four in here if we want.” 

“Charles,” Erik quirks an eyebrow at him. “Am I to understand that you enjoy our time together?”

Charles blushes furiously. “I just—I only meant—” 

“What you meant,” Erik interrupts smoothly, “is that it’s easier to have a proper conversation without the time constraints of the office setting.” 

“Yes,” Charles agrees quickly. “Exactly.” But the blush is still colouring his cheeks as he resets the board, and Erik can’t help but feel pleased that Charles wants to spend more time together. 

Their next game goes by more quickly, as Erik swiftly takes command of the board and puts Charles in check three times before claiming checkmate. 

“See?” Erik sits back and grins. “Clearly I just needed to warm up.” 

“Apparently.” Charles leans back as well, stretching his arms out behind him. “You know, the time thing is a bonus, but complete mobility is definitely my favourite part about meeting here.” 

“If you stopped getting yourself run over, you’d have that kind of mobility all the time,” Erik comments wryly.

“You really know how to kill the mood.” 

“And you need a reality check, Charles. I’ll admit these excursions into your mind are beneficial to your rehabilitation, but they’ve also turned concepts like mobility into fantasies rather than something you could achieve for yourself.” 

Charles frowns, and the greenery around them dissipates, leaving them briefly suspended in empty space before Erik finds himself once again sitting at his own desk. Charles is back in his creaking wheelchair, his features soft but clearly nonplussed by Erik’s comment. 

“You use your telepathy like a crutch,” Erik continues. “You’ve got this almost limitless power at your disposal, and it helps you forget that you need your physical body as much as your mind.”

“It’s not a crutch,” Charles retorts. “It’s a part of me. You said so yourself.” 

“Yes,” Erik concedes. “It’s a part of you. An extension, even, like my metal bending is an extension of who I am. But it’s not all that you are.” 

Charles seems to be at a loss for words. “I…I don’t understand.” 

Erik extends a finger towards the Newton’s Cradle at the edge of his desk, and the ball closest to him swings out and back down again, sending the first and last balls into motion. “We can do so much, you and I. We have abilities beyond what many humans could even dream of possessing, even with the increasing awareness of our kind. I’m a mutant. But I’m also a doctor, Jewish, and sometimes a mechanic.” 

“You fix cars?” Charles asks, sitting up in his chair.

Erik nods. “Well, just my own, now. But I paid my way through med school working at a garage and doing side jobs for classmates.” 

“I had no idea you were so versatile. Is that why you got into physical therapy?” Charles asks. “So you can fix people like you fix cars? Help them run more smoothly?” 

Erik laughs. “I never thought of it like that, but yes, I guess in a way that’s true. Although people are a bit more complex than cars.” 

“Not all of them.” 

Erik’s face softens. “There is more to you than the label you’ve been branded with. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’re not just the telepath and the ‘Impact Junkie’. Think about it. Who are you?” 

“I…” Charles pauses, thinking. “My name is Charles Xavier. I’m 24 years old, I was born in England and raised in New York…” he glances at Erik, who nods encouragingly. “My mother was an old money socialite turned alcoholic and my father was a geneticist. I always wanted to follow in his footsteps, but I lost my shot at a degree when I walked out in front of an SUV halfway through first semester.” The words tumble out of his mouth faster than Charles can keep up. “I’m the heir to the Xavier fortune, which sits around doing absolutely nothing, just like me. I waste my life dancing with death and lying in hospital beds. I don’t know who I am, or who I want to be, but I know that it isn’t this.” Charles stops and fixes his gaze on his lap, suddenly aware of what he’s saying. 

Erik stands and edges around the desk, covering Charles’ trembling hands with his own as he kneels before him. “That,” he says quietly, “is exactly what I wanted to hear.” 

~

Raven is sitting on the edge of the bed when Azazel wheels Charles into his room, a familiar white card held between her fingers. 

“I see you got his number,” she comments with a smirk. “Smooth.” 

Charles leans forward to reach for the business card, but Raven holds it just out of reach and glances up at Azazel. “As always, thank you for dealing with my impossible brother,” she grins, her blue eyes shifting to cat’s eye yellow, mirroring Azazel’s own. 

Azazel smirks and nods at the card in her hand. “Perhaps he is not entirely impossible anymore.” 

Charles glares at him. “And what is that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s been a pleasure as always, Raven,” Azazel ignores Charles’ objection and teleports from the room. 

Charles sighs and sinks into the chair as best he can, wincing as his ribs refuse to cooperate. “You two live to make me miserable.” 

Raven tosses her golden blonde hair behind her shoulder and drops the card in Charles’ lap, face up. “You’re doing a pretty good job of that on your own.” 

Charles bites his lip to keep from blurting out the first snarky comment that comes to mind. “Are we going to the café at the corner again?” he asks instead. 

Raven is taken aback. “This Dr. Lehnsherr must be doing something right. I’ve been here a whole five minutes and you haven’t picked a fight.” 

“And you haven’t answered my question.” 

“Maybe next time, Charles. I can’t stay long.” 

“Of course,” Charles responds sullenly. “It is exam week, after all.” 

“I knew you’d understand.” Raven squeezes his knee and offers him a bright smile. “So tell me all about this new therapist. There must be something about him that’s got you hooked.” 

“I am not hooked!” But Charles can’t prevent the blush from creeping across his cheeks. “It’s just…it’s different with Erik,” he admits. “I feel different with him. I feel like a person.” 

“Yep,” Raven says. “You’re hooked.” 

“I am not!” Charles shoots her a look, but she waves her hand dismissively. 

“Please. When you talk about him you get this far off look in your eyes, not to mention you’re using his first name after a week of counselling,” Raven replies. “Next you’re going to tell me he’s tall, dark and handsome with some super fascinating mutation that he’s made sure to show off every day since he found out you were into genetics.” 

“He doesn’t show it off!” 

“And you’ve just proven my point.” 

Charles wants wipe that smug grin off of his sister’s face. Better yet, he wishes he could just get up and walk out, but doing a 180 in this relic of a wheelchair won’t have the dramatic effect he desires. 

“What, no witty comeback?” Raven teases. “Is it because you know I’m right?” 

Charles looks away. “Don’t you have an exam to get to?”

Raven stands and straightens her navy blue sweater dress. “You can kick me out if you want, but that doesn’t make me any less right.” She sidesteps Charles’ wheelchair and pauses in the doorway. “Tell tall, dark and sexy I said hello.” 

Charles twists his neck around to pull a face at her retreating form before turning his attention to the business card in his lap. He turns it over between his fingers, noticing how the corners are already starting to look slightly battered. Not for the first time, he considers calling the number, then remembers Erik is probably still downstairs in his office. 

A quick telepathic check tells him that Erik is in the elevator; apparently Shaw wants an update on his progress. Charles won’t deny the twinge of pleasure he feels over Erik’s reluctance to provide a status report, or the slight guilt that follows as he picks up a few stray thoughts. 

_…give him enough to keep him off my back. Thank god for doctor/patient confidentiality._

Charles smiles to himself and is about to withdraw when Erik’s hesitation dissolves into a warmth that seems to take both of them by surprise. 

_I just want what’s best for…Charles? Is that you creeping around?_

Charles starts and pulls out of his mind immediately. He’s never been caught before, and certainly not from this distance. Erik hadn’t been angry about the intrusion, in fact, Charles thinks, he’d actually welcomed it. Even so, he wishes he could just disappear into the whitewashed walls. 

“And why would that be?” 

Charles has to back up before wheeling himself around to face Emma’s amused gaze, cursing silently as he narrowly misses the corner of the bed. 

“I see you’ve become quite adept at moving about with only one hand,” Emma continues, nodding at the cast on his left arm. “Imagine what you’ll be capable of with two of them.”

“What do you want, Emma?” Charles’ right hand closes into a fist, ignoring the way his bruised fingers protest painfully against the movement. The echoes of past traumas, Charles has found, are never the same as the original impact. 

“Oh sugar, any telepath with half a brain would notice the embarrassment you’re projecting,” Emma says, crossing her arms. “Especially when your emotional spectrum begins and ends with angst.” 

Charles struggles to keep his expression neutral. “It’s none of your business. Not anymore, anyway.” 

“I see,” Emma frowns. “You know Charles, despite what my actions may imply, I still care about you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Charles mutters. 

Emma cocks her head to one side. “There’s something different about you.” 

“Well for a start, you’re not running my rehab anymore.” The words falls from his lips before he can stop them, and the hurt look on Emma’s face makes him wish he could take them back. “Emma, I didn’t mean…” he trails off, suddenly unsure. 

“I know exactly what you meant,” Emma retorts, smoothing the hem of her ivory skirt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.” She turns on her heel and stalks off down the hall, heels clicking a sharp rhythm against the linoleum floors. 

Charles waits for her footsteps to fade before wheeling out the door. There is no way he’s wasting another day sitting this empty room by himself. 

~

Overall, Erik’s meeting with Shaw had gone reasonably well. He didn’t ask for any intimate details, but merely wanted to ensure that Charles hadn’t caused Erik to run for the hills. In fact, Erik realizes as he exits the elevator, it’s been quite the opposite. He’s found himself wanting to spend more and more time with Charles, and based on the success of their telepathic chess games, it seems that Charles feels the same way. 

Erik glances up at the clock before he turns down the hallway to the reception room. He’s got an hour until his physical therapy session with Sean Cassidy, who had fallen out of his bedroom window playing Superman. Again. Erik is still angry with McCoy for telling the kid that if he could construct something to catch his vocal sound waves at just the right angle, he might actually succeed. 

“For God’s sake, move!” 

Erik turns at the sound of a familiar British accent. To his surprise, Charles is at the other end of the hall, apparently struggling to turn his wheelchair around. 

“Stupid—bloody—thing—why won’t you—move!” 

“Charles!” Erik is at his side in an instant, and he briefly wonders why there are no other doctors in the vicinity when he catches sight of Charles’ hand. “Are you alright? You’re bleeding!” 

Charles refuses to meet his eyes, instead attempting to hide his bloodied fingers under his cast. “It’s nothing. I don’t need your help.”   
Erik shrugs. “Apparently not, if you made it all the way down here by yourself. But,” he adds, “You might want to keep that hand away from your cast. The bloodstains won’t come out of the plaster.” 

Charles slowly removes his hand from his lap and drapes it over the side of the chair. 

“Now, as long as I’m here,” Erik says, “Maybe you’d like to get cleaned up before you continue on?” 

Charles bites his lip and gives the slightest of nods, and Erik gently squeezes his shoulder before steering him into the nearest vacant room. Charles remains silent as Erik wets a washcloth and cleans the thin line of blood flowing from between his middle and ring finger down to his wrist, watching Erik’s every movement through red-rimmed eyes. Erik wonders briefly if he’d been crying, but decides it’s better to not to ask. Instead he wraps a few inches of gauze around Charles’ ring finger and secures it with two band-aids, which causes Charles to shoot him a curious glance. 

“And old trick I learned from my mother,” Erik explains. “They hold better than the white tape.” 

Charles nods again and lowers his eyes. “…Thank you.” 

Erik rinses his own hands and dries them before returning the rest of the gauze roll to the cupboard above the sink. “What happened to Raven?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Erik’s lost count of how many times he’s heard that one in the past week. In 3…2…

“She had an exam and we were supposed to go for lunch in the café around the corner, and Emma said I was getting better with the steering bit so I thought…” Charles trails off, embarrassed. “But then my fingers got caught in the spokes and I turned in the wrong direction and I suppose I’m not quite as alright as I thought,” he finishes quickly. 

“Well if you’d still like some company,” Erik offers, “I was on my way out to lunch as well.” 

“I wouldn’t want to ruin your lunch hour.” 

“And what gave you that impression?” Erik smiles at him. “Come on, then. I’m buying.” 

He holds the door open for Charles, who glances down at his mangled hands and back up at Erik. “Would you mind…” 

Erik nods and makes a sweeping gesture, sending Charles gliding out of the room and into the hallway, before closing the door behind them both and matching pace with Charles. 

“So tell me about this café.” 

~ 

Charles’ mood is absolutely dismal. He’s been humiliated not once, but twice, and in front of the same person, no less. Erik hasn’t mentioned the elevator incident yet, but Charles is sure it will come up soon enough. He’s never been caught inside someone’s head before, not unless he had meant to make his presence known. He can’t even fathom why Erik had taken him out, other than pure sympathy for his pathetic attempt to actually do something for a change. 

Then again, he thinks, absently fiddling with the glass salt shaker on the table, there is something…different about him. It’s like he told Raven earlier – when he’s with Erik, he feels like a person, and he hasn’t quite figured out how to reconcile this feeling with his previous hospital experiences. Sure, Raven has always taken care of him, Emma has been supportive in her own way, and even Azazel has proven to be a comfort while he recuperates. But Erik…Erik is something else entirely. 

Realization hits Charles like a brick and he curses aloud. “Goddamn, Raven was right.” 

“Right about what?” Erik sets a smoked turkey clubhouse for Charles and a chicken Veronica salad for himself down before taking his seat across from Charles. “Moira said she would bring a fresh pot of earl grey,” he adds. “Apparently you two are well acquainted.” 

Charles nods. “Raven and I have been coming here since high school, back when Moira was 17 and barely knew how to make a decent cappuccino. She used to joke that she liked when I came in because she doesn’t need to use the machines to make tea.” 

“I never could understand why we had such advanced technology for an 18th century coffeehouse.” Moira flashes Charles a soft smile as she places two teacups with matching saucers on the table – from the Royal Doulton set, Charles notices – and produces a steaming teapot from the table beside them. “No Raven today, Charles?” she asks, the slight lilt in her voice betraying her Scottish heritage. 

Charles shakes his head. “Exams and such, you know how it is,” he replies offhandedly, earning a curious glance from Erik. “Are you growing your hair out? You don’t normally tie it back.”

Moira narrows her eyes, but accepts the change of subject, fingering the end of her chocolate brown ponytail. “Yeah, I thought I would try something different. Do you like it?” 

“It suits you.” Charles nods.

Moira grins and grabs her tray from the neighbouring table before turning her attention to Erik. “Normally I’d give you the first time customer spiel on the inspiration for the Quill & Ink, but I’ll let Charles do that.” She winks at Charles and heads back over to the bar, leaning over the counter to speak to a young African American man that Charles doesn’t recognize. 

Charles gingerly picks up his teacup and takes a sip, savouring the way the hot liquid scalds his throat. It’s a different kind of impact, he thinks, but an impact all the same. 

“It’s funny,” Erik comments, “you can actually hear the ampersand when she says the name of the café.” 

“She’s had a lot of practice. Moira’s been running this place on her own since the previous owner passed away,” Charles replies. “And not to disrespect the deceased, but I think it’s vastly improved since she took over.” 

Erik smiles over the rim of his cup. “I don’t doubt it. She’s got a sort of quiet strength about her. Similar to your own, I might add.” 

Charles shakes his head. “You are wrong about me, my friend.” 

“So you keep insisting.” The teacup makes a soft clink as Erik replaces it on the saucer. “This is all very 18th century; everything’s so ornate yet casual at the same time.” 

“Oh, yes,” Charles is grateful that for once, he is not the focus of the conversation. “The design is based off of the penny universities of the Enlightenment, where the era’s greatest philosophers, scientists, mathematicians, pretty much anyone who was anyone paid a penny at the door to drink coffee and share their ideas.” He gestures to a picture on the wall behind him, depicting a crowd of men standing, sitting, and leaning on tables across from a bar counter. “That’s the original concept. It was virtually unregulated, a veritable melting pot of intellectual discourse among the greatest men of the age. Well,” Charles adds, “I say men, but there were many important women as well, which Raven is always pointing out. She was always a fan of Charlotte Corday, and of course Emilie du Chatelet, whose portrait is across the room next to Voltaire.” 

Erik cranes his neck to view the two portraits above their seats. “Those are some very realistic reproductions.” 

“They should be. Moira commissioned a couple of her art student friends to paint most of these. She really wanted to establish the sense of entering another century. Do you know Sean Cassidy?” Charles asks. “Redhead, broke his arm less than a month after it healed because—”   
“Because that idiot McCoy convinced him he could fly using his own soundwaves?” Erik cuts in, taking a bite of his salad. “I'm meeting with him after lunch.” 

“Yes. Well. He painted Voltaire and Emilie here, as well as the Marquis de Sade on the far wall.” Until now, Charles has never considered that Erik might have other patients, but then again, Emma always has at least three cases at a time. His mind races, trying to decide on the most discrete method of finding out who else Erik is seeing. It’s wholly irrational, Charles knows, to be concerned. Of course Erik would have more than one patient. He has to make a living, after all. 

Suddenly, Charles realizes that Erik is staring at him, apparently waiting for a response. He shakes his head and offers a thin smile. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked if you were all right,” Erik says. 

“Sorry,” Charles repeats. “Just…off on a tangent. Nothing important,” he adds hastily. “I just get distracted sometimes. One too many concussions, I suppose,” he jokes. 

Erik narrows his eyes, but doesn’t press the matter. “You should eat,” he says instead. “It’s either this or cafeteria leftovers later.” 

Charles mock shudders and gingerly removes the toothpick from his sandwich. “When you put it that way,” he says, “Perhaps I should also get something to go.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is shorter than the others, but it's probably my favourite. [Suggested listening:](https://play.spotify.com/user/marymordrake/playlist/5Q179LLg04ihXXOzQJgohP) "Good Times Gonna Come" by Aqualung and "Do What You Want" by OK Go, both actively featured in this chapter!

Charles wakes the next morning to Azazel towering over him, carefully connecting a bag of wine red fluid to an IV drip. He rubs his eyes sleepily, wincing as the fabric of his band-aids rubbed against his eyelid. “Is that what I think it is?”

Azazel glances down at him and nods. “Worthington Labs dropped it off this morning,” he answers, turning back to secure the system.

“Excellent.” Charles closes his eyes again, then opens them and frowns. “This morning?”

Azazel nods again and takes Charles’ arm to prep him for the drip. “You slept longer than usual, myshka. It’s almost one o’clock.”

Charles attempts to sit up, Azazel stops him. “Hold still,” he says, inserting the needle underneath Charles’ skin.

“I had an appointment this morning,” Charles protests. “Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

“Dr. Lehnsherr will be stopping in this afternoon while you heal,” Azazel reassures him. “We both agreed that you could use the rest.”

Charles nods mutely. He’s never slept in this long before, and definitely not without dreaming. “How long am I to be on the IV?” he asks after a moment.

“All today, and possibly overnight. Your injuries are fairly extensive, so perhaps even longer.”

Well, Charles thinks, at least he’ll be on his feet within the next few days. Last time he was in the hospital, Worthington Labs didn’t deliver until after his casts had been removed. As Azazel moves on to general IV etiquette, Charles tunes him out and does a quick mental scan of his floor. There are the usual bustling nurses, bedridden patients, and visiting relatives, but he is looking for someone in particular. Sure enough, Erik is just exiting the elevator and turning down the hallway to Charles’ room. Against his better judgement, Charles enters Erik’s mind as covertly as possible, finding comfort in his friend’s familiar thought patterns, until—

_Good morning, Charles. Or should I say afternoon?_

Charles nearly jumps out of his skin. _How do you do that?_

Erik projects the mental equivalent of a shrug. _Sometimes I think you want to be found._

 _I was only checking to see if you were on your way._ Charles cringes at his meager response and withdraws from Erik’s mind, just in time to catch Azazel saying, “…and make sure to call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Charles nods automatically.

“Am I early?” Erik crosses the room to stand on the opposite side of Charles’ bed. He’s substituted the hospital-issued lab coat for a black blazer over a dark red button down, the same colour as the fluid feeding through the IV.

“Not at all,” Azazel replies. “I was just leaving.” He exits on foot instead of teleporting, apparently to check on the patient in the next room.

Charles nods at the chair by his bed. “You may as well sit. I won’t be going anywhere for awhile.” He lifts his arm slightly for emphasis.

Erik obliges, crossing one leg over the other. “What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles.”

“Don’t spoil this for me, Erik,” Charles replies swiftly. “I’ve been waiting for it all week.”

“Experimental drugs?”

“Technically, it’s blood, but that’s not the important part. The important part,” Charles continues, ignoring Erik’s attempt to interrupt, “is that in a couple of days, I’ll be on my feet again and ready to go home, sans wheelchair or crutches.”

“How is that possible?” Erik asks, watching the liquid siphon into Charles’ veins.

“Warren Worthington’s secondary mutation is healing, which he discovered is transferable through blood,” Charles explains. “He helps out where he can, mainly free clinics and hospices, with a few exceptions.”

“And you’re an exception.”

"Warren’s family and mine were part of the same social circles. He was at the charity ball the night…the night of the crash.” Charles inhales sharply. This isn’t where he wants the conversation to lead. “In any case, word spread through the medical community of my situation, so much for patient confidentiality by the way, and he offered to help.”

“It seems a bit counterproductive, don’t you think?” Erik muses. “Giving you the power to heal so that you can break something else the moment you’re released.”

“It’s similar to the logic of providing clean needles for drug addicts,” Charles answers. “The only downside is that it doesn’t fix anything that was mended the old-fashioned way.”  
He glances down at his crooked fingers. “A bone can only heal so many times, I suppose. Would you do me a favour?”

Erik nods. “Anything.”

“Take off the bandage on my finger?”

Erik leans over and carefully unwraps the layer of gauze to reveal perfectly smooth, pale skin. “It’s entirely healed,” he notes, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice.

“I told you,” Charles smirks. “And pretty soon I won’t have a wheelchair to get it caught in again.”

Erik tosses the bandage in the wastebasket by his feet and leans back in the chair. “So what now? You sit in a bed for a few days and then go walk out into traffic again?”

Charles’ expression darkens. “What else is there?” The words sound hollow to his ears, and Erik seems to sense the lack of feeling behind them. When Erik remains silent, he draws up the courage to speak again. “I just…I don’t know what else to do. This is who I’ve become, and I don’t know where to begin to change that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Erik says quietly, and Charles wonders for a moment if he’s only talking about therapy. But, he thinks, what else would he be talking about?

“You’ve changed since we first met.”

Charles frowns. “It’s barely been a week.”

“And in the space of a week, your mindset has shifted from ‘I am’ to ‘I’ve become’,” Erik replies with a smile. “Baby steps.”

Charles is about to argue otherwise, but he realizes with a start that Erik is right. Emma and Raven had both noticed something different about him, and then there was Azazel’s comment to his sister…

_Perhaps he isn’t quite so impossible anymore._

Charles closes his eyes, opens them again. “I’ve spent so much time being this,” he nods to his casts. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“But that’s the best part,” Erik says. “There’s an entire world out there to experience, to teach you how to live. You have the time and resources to literally go and do whatever you want. All you have to do is pick a direction and start moving.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple.”

“What if I don’t like the direction I’ve taken? What if I change my mind?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

Charles stares at him, momentarily at a loss for words. If he changes directions now, he knows, it won’t be half as difficult to change again later. The thought of all this changing, however, is enough to make his stomach turn.

“Start with something small,” Erik’s voice sounds far away, and he forces himself to breathe despite the anxiety tightening his chest. “Go for a walk. Visit Central Park like you wanted, or stay close to home and walk around your own property. You must have the space.”

“I suppose I could,” Charles concedes, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Just spend a bit of time outside of your house, without the express purpose of being hospitalized. Just like when you go to the Quill & Ink. No commitments, no pressure.”

“No pressure,” Charles echoes. “Just a walk?”

“That’s all,” Erik confirms.

Charles closes his eyes, imagining the vast expanse of land surrounding his family home, and the streets of New York beyond the gates. “We’ll see,” he answers noncommittally. The blood is making him drowsy again, and he can sense Erik standing to leave as he slips back into unconsciousness.

“Erik?” Charles half-opens his eyes again, a twinge of anxiety rising in his chest.

“Yes?”

“Would you…that is, could you stay for awhile?”

Erik looks at him for a long moment, then smiles and sits back down in the chair. “Of course.”

~

True to his word, Charles is on his feet again within the next two days, and is taken off of the IV by the third. When he walks into Erik’s office, he’s traded hospital linens for  
khaki coloured pants and a light blue button down under a navy cardigan, and Azazel, Erik notices, is conspicuously absent.

“Raven came in earlier than expected to pick me up,” Charles says. “Azazel is keeping her occupied until we’re finished.”

Erik shuffles and restacks the papers on his desk. “If she’s waiting, we can end off early—”

“No!” Charles interrupts hurriedly. At Erik’s cocked eyebrow, he adds, “I mean, it’s fine. Honestly, I think she was early on purpose. She’s been trying to get Azazel’s attention for months.” He moves to sit down in the chair, but Erik holds up a hand.

“Don’t sit down. We’re not staying here.” he says, slipping past his desk to the open door. “We’re starting your physical therapy today, but I’ve decided to do something a bit different. You’re probably sick of the same routines all the time, am I right?”

Charles narrows his eyes at him, and Erik has to nudge him gently out of his mind.

“No peeking,” he smirks, gesturing for Charles to follow him. He’s still limping, Erik notices, and as much as Charles pretends otherwise, walking is still a painful process. Erik offers his arm and Charles hesitates only briefly before taking it.

“I’m a telepath. I hate surprises,” Charles says, a hint of amusement colouring his tone.

Erik glances down at him as they turn down the next hallway into the physiotherapy department. “Don’t you trust me by now?”

“That depends on what you’re walking me into.” They stop in front of a white door marked “Studio 3A”, the large rectangular window providing a view of the hardwood floors, mirrored wall, and boxy black object in the far corner. Erik opens the door and Charles dutifully follows him in, eyeing the iPod dock warily.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Probably.” Erik shrugs off his lab coat to reveal a white button down, his sleeves already rolled up, and a charcoal grey vest.

“You’re not serious.” Charles crosses his arms as Erik kneels in front of the machine, attaches his iPod touch and scrolls to the right playlist.

“I’m always serious.” He hits play and stands to face Charles. “Come on, we’ll start off slow.” He holds out a hand, and Charles stares at him for a moment before accepting it.

“This is ridiculous,” Charles mutters, looking away as Erik positions Charles’ hand on his shoulder, then settles his own lightly against Charles’ waist.

“This one is nice and simple, just follow my feet,” Erik says, and Charles obediently looks at the floor. “My right back, your left forward. Ready?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” Erik steps back, and Charles follows. “Good. Now right, and back—no that’s your right, not mine—good, left, left foot again…”

Charles obediently follows Erik’s instruction in time with the music, grimacing each time he steps on Erik’s toes. Erik gently corrects him when he missteps, and after about a minute Charles isn’t looking at his feet anymore.

“See? That wasn’t so difficult,” Erik smirks.

“We’re just going in circles,” Charles realizes.

“It’s a simple waltz pattern. Something to get you moving.”

“Well I’m moving,” Charles replies, shifting his hand on Erik’s shoulder. Now that he’s not focusing on his feet, Charles is extremely conscious of Erik’s hand on his waist, their arms brushing together as they move in tandem.

Charles clears his throat. “Are we done yet? This is a bit repetitive.”

“It’s one song, Charles. You’ll survive.”

Charles blocks out the gentle pressure of Erik’s fingers against his side and focuses on the rhythm of their movements. One, two, three, one, two, three—

“Left foot,” Erik reminds him, wincing as Charles steps on his toes again.

“Sorry.”

“You’re over thinking it. Just move with the music.”

“I thought I was moving with you.” Charles clamps his mouth shut, embarrassed.

Erik grins. “That, too.” As the song fades out, he adds, “time for something more upbeat, I think.”

“You said one song,” Charles says, his voice rising half an octave with panic.

“And you survived,” Erik replies as the next song kicks in: _Well you were born in an electrical storm, took a bite out the sun and saw your future in a machine built for two…_

Charles can’t help but smile as Erik swings him around, and takes both of Charles’ hands to bring him out and back in again. He laughs aloud as Erik spins him, forgetting both his embarrassment and the waltz steps as they dance.

_Screaming at the top of your lungs you said, do what you want, come on come on what could go wrong?_

He doesn’t notice when a silhouette appears in the window of the studio, or when the door quietly clicks open and his sister stands in the doorway, her expression somewhere between shock and amusement. When the song ends, the only person in field of vision is Erik. They stand there in the middle of the room for a moment, chest to chest, hands still clasped together, their laughter slowly dying as they grin at each other.

Raven loudly clears her throat in the doorway and Charles glances at her in alarm. “Raven! Um. I was just, that is…” He lets go of Erik’s hands and takes a step back, cheeks flushed.

Erik quickly regains his composure and offers Raven a thin smile. “After eleven years of physical therapy, it was time to try something different”, he explains.

“I can see that,” Raven replies, eyebrows raised. “I’ve never seen my brother this… engaged.” She stares pointedly at Charles, who only blushes harder.

“Yes. Well. Time to go, I think.” Charles straightens his cardigan, refusing to take it off despite feeling more than a little overheated. “Same time tomorrow, then?”

Erik smiles at the familiarity of his question. “As always.” _You have my card._

 _I do_ , Charles replies silently. Then, hesitating, _thank you. For this._

_Anytime _, Erik answers, and Charles knows that he means it.__

“Take your pills,” Erik adds aloud, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

“I will.”

“I mean it.”

“I know!” Charles retorts, exasperated. “I will take the bloody pills and I will show up on time for therapy and do what I’m supposed to. Are you happy now?”

Erik smirks. “I’m not unhappy.”

Raven sighs loudly. “If you two are done flirting, I’d like to get out of here before I get towed for exceeding my hour limit.”

“We live in a mansion, Raven. Paid parking isn’t an issue,” Charles says wryly, choosing to ignore her comment about flirting. Charles glances back over his shoulder as she leads him out the door, matching Erik’s amused smile with one of his own.

“It’s just the point. Normally you can’t wait to get out of here, but I guess Doctor McDreamy over there has changed that.”

“Raven! He can hear you!”

“And don’t even try telling me you weren’t also having some psychic conversation with him just now,” she continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “I mean come on, that’s like Inception-level flirting right there.”

“Can we just go home?” _And can my mutant power be to blend into my surroundings?_

Raven grins at him. “Now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed my big brother? Of course.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated my other fic instead of this one so this was delayed a bit but welcome to chapter 5! I'm currently writing chapter 8 so hopefully I can stay a bit ahead of the game. And once again thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos, I love talking to all of you!!

“You know I have to ask.” Erik stirs a spoonful of sugar into his coffee as he speaks. He and Charles are sitting at their same table at the Quill & Ink, having decided the cloudy weather made his office feel intolerably grey and damp. Charles is nursing his usual Earl Grey and gazing out the window at the passing traffic. 

“Very well,” he sighs and focuses his attention on Erik. “Let’s have it, then.”

“How are things at home?” 

“My favourite question,” Charles rolls his eyes. “Right after, ‘are you taking your medication?’ and ‘how does that make you feel?’”

Erik tries, and fails, to hide his amusement. “Charles.”

“Things are as normal as they get, I suppose. Raven is too distracted with end of the semester to shadow me and control my meds, which is nice. I enjoy being left alone.”

“How do you pass the time?”

“I see you every other day, for a start,” Charles replies. “Otherwise I read, mostly. Do my exercises, like I’m supposed to. Oh, and I went for a walk yesterday.”

“Good. Where did you go?”

“Just around the grounds, to the front gate and back, that sort of thing. I ran into the gardener, who was surprised to see me,” he adds. “Although he did almost run me over with the lawnmower.”

“Charles.” 

Charles, to his credit, does not wither under Erik’s glare. “Anyway, he was very understanding about the entire ordeal, especially with a bit of extra persuasion. He even invited me back to his quarters for lunch.” 

“You’re telling me you tried to get yourself run over, and then made the driver forget about it?”

“I was trying to tell you that I accidentally made friends with the gardener and had a ‘positive social encounter’.” Charles uses air quotes to emphasize his point. “Clearly one of us is missing the point here.” 

“Charles, you managed to orchestrate a crash on your own property, during a walk that was meant to be just that. A walk.” Erik pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s been what, a week since you were released?”

“Nine days,” Charles corrects automatically.

“Exactly. Nine days without injury. Can’t you at least wait until you’re body is completely healed before trying to hurt yourself again? At this rate, even Worthington’s blood won’t heal the damage.” 

Charles quirks an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be telling me not to hurt myself at all?”

“Probably, but right now I’d rather you just focused on getting through the week. Then you can work on the next week, and the next, until eventually you don’t have to think about it anymore.” 

“And the master plan is revealed.” 

“The ‘master plan’—” Erik deliberately uses air quotes “—has always been to get you back on your feet and keep you on them. And from there, figure out what it is you want.” 

“Always with the big questions,” Charles sighs. “Let me assure you, when I finally decide what I want, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“I look forward to it,” Erik replies, draining the last of his coffee. “In the meantime, let’s have a look at your wrist.” 

Charles obediently offers his hand across the table for Erik to examine. “The bruising is completely gone now,” Erik comments, turning Charles’ wrist over. He runs his thumb along the path of the vein before letting go. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

“Yes, though I don’t really see the point. Warren’s blood healed most of the damage.” 

“And your legs?” 

“I don’t have a limp anymore, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Charles replies. “And before you ask, my ribs are all in the right place.” 

Erik nods. “I’m not used to anyone healing so quickly.” 

“You should see what Logan can do. If I had his healing factor—”

“You’d be breaking bones every day and depending on your mutation to set things right,” Erik interrupts. “I could just imagine all the havoc you’d wreak on the highway.” 

“Am I that predictable? No, don’t answer that.” Charles glances at the clock on the wall. “I should text Raven to remind her to pick me up later. She’s arranged for one of her friends to drive me while she’s in California for the winter break.”

“I thought she wasn’t going on the trip.”

“I told her it wasn’t right for her to miss out on her life because of me, and that I would be fine for a week on my own. And then she said I had changed, and if I’d said that a year ago she wouldn’t have believed me.” Charles lowers his eyes, staring at the distorted reflection in his teacup. “Anyway, she’s leaving tomorrow afternoon for ten days.” 

“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Erik says, watching as Charles searches his pockets for his phone. “You shouldn’t miss out on your life, either.” 

“Yes. Well.” Charles is barely listening, having finally found his Blackberry in the pocket of his khakis. “One step at a time, right?” 

Erik tilts his head to one side. “I can drive you, if you’d like.” 

Charles stops typing mid-sentence and glances up in surprise. “It’s a bit out of the way.” 

“You’re my last appointment for the day. I’ve got time.” 

Charles pauses, then shakes his head. “I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You didn’t. I’m offering,” Erik replies, nodding at Charles’ phone. “Tell her you’re getting a ride.” 

Charles erases what he’s written, types a new message, and hits “send” before he can think better of it. He doesn’t know what he’s more anxious about; being in a car alone with Erik or Raven’s barrage of questions when he arrives. 

~ 

Charles doesn’t speak on the drive home, and the low volume of the radio does nothing to buffer the silence between them. Erik’s Audi is an old model, but it’s lost none of its comfort, and Charles finds himself wondering whether Erik’s apartment is like that too – furnished with old, familiar pieces whose appeal only increases with age. He wishes his own house was like that, but instead of finding comfort in the antique furniture, he feels only hollow detachment. 

“You weren’t joking about living in a mansion.” 

Charles starts at the sound of Erik’s voice and glances out the window at the massive house before them. “It is a bit ostentatious.” 

“I would have gone for imposing,” Erik replies wryly. “And you’re on your own here while Raven’s gone away?” 

Charles nods. “Unless you count the gardener.” 

“Not funny, Charles,” but the corners of Erik’s mouth quirk up all the same. “If you need anything while she’s gone, you know how to reach me.”

“I have someone to drive me.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

Charles unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door without meeting Erik’s gaze. “I’ll be fine on my own. Thank you for the ride.” 

“See you Friday,” Erik says, and Charles just nods again in response. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything more, not with Erik looking at him that way, like they’ve just shared something together that is only theirs—Charles slams the door shut and, with a quick wave, walks briskly to his front door. He needs to stop seeing things that aren’t there. Erik is his therapist, nothing more. 

Charles stops, key in hand, just short of unlocking the door. Raven is on the other side, waiting for him. He can feel the anticipation radiating from her position without reading her mind, and it makes him shudder. Maybe he can change her perception for a minute or two, just long enough to get in the door and up the stairs…but that probably counts as reading her mind, he concedes with a sigh. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he mutters to himself, and with that he shoves the key into the lock and swings the door open. 

Right on cue, Raven swivels around in a leather office chair, long blonde hair pinned in a tight bun to match her crisp business attire. 

“I’ve been expecting you.” Her tone is low and ominous, or at least she makes the attempt. 

Charles kicks off his shoes and drops his keys in the bowl by the door. “Where’d you get the chair?” he asks, more as a deflection tactic than actual curiosity. 

“The office down the hall,” Raven replies with a smirk. 

“The one I like to pretend doesn’t exist?” He sidesteps the chair and heads up the stairs. 

Raven jumps up and follows him, shifting back to blue as she takes the steps two at a time. “Oh come on, be a little impressed,” she says, easily beating him to the second floor landing. She’s traded the power suit for black jeans and matching tank top, but her natural red hair is still in a bun. “I thought you’d be in a good mood after your date.” 

“It wasn’t a date. He’s my therapist.”

“He’s your gorgeous mutant therapist who has made you so much easier to live with that it’s almost scary,” Raven grins. “And he gave you a ride home! That’s got to count for something.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Charles moves past her and down the hall to his room. “Don’t you have your own love life to worry about?”

“So it was a date!” 

Charles freezes at his doorway. “I walked right into that one.” 

“Yes you did.” Raven bounces up beside him. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Hank and I broke up three months ago.”

“Hence the flirting with Azazel.” 

“Which was cut short because someone didn’t need a ride today,” Raven responds. “Now stop changing the subject and talk to me.” 

Charles finally turns to face her. “Do you know what I really want right now?”

“Sleep? Pain pills? To brood alone in the dark like a vampire?” 

Charles pretends not to hear her. “I want to make a giant bowl of popcorn, drag some blankets downstairs, and watch movies until we both pass out.” 

Raven’s expression softens. “We haven’t done that in years.” 

“Then we’re long overdue, aren’t we?” Charles shrugs and offers her a half smile. “I just want to do something…normal. For once.”

Raven cocks her head to one side. “Okay. But this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You can tell me all about Dr. Sexy while we make the popcorn.” 

~

It’s almost 3am when Erik’s cell phone rings. Erik groans and rolls over in bed, pressing his face into the pillow as he reaches blindly for the phone. His fingers close around the three year old flip phone, muffling the shrill ring tone as he shifts to answer it. The caller id is restricted, but he hits the talk button anyway, along with a string of random numbers as he fumbles with the phone. 

“What?” he growls into the receiver. He’s greeted with silence on the other end, and for a moment he wonders if he’s managed to traumatize another telemarketer. “If you’re going to wake me up at 2 in the morning, at least have the decency to speak up!” 

More silence and then, quietly, “Erik?” 

Erik’s tone softens immediately. “Charles.” 

“I—I’m sorry I woke you,” Charles mumbles. “You said to call anytime and I thought…well. Anyway. I should just go--” 

“No!” Erik blurts out. “I mean, yes. That’s what I said, and I meant it.” He rolls fully onto his back and rubs his eyes. “I mean it. Still, that is.” And the award for most awkward conversation goes to… 

“Good.” Charles falls silent, despite the relief evident in his quick response. 

“Charles, what’s going on?” Concern quickly overcomes drowsiness as he sits up in bed. “Are you all right?” 

“Yes. No. I’m not sure,” Charles admits. “I couldn’t sleep, and Raven’s in the next room but she has to catch her plane in the morning and I didn’t want to wake her.”

“So you woke me instead,” Erik replies dryly. 

“I’m sorry,” Charles repeats, anxiety creeping into his voice. 

“I told you, I don’t mind,” Erik assures him. “In fact, I’m glad you called.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course.” Erik can almost hear Charles smiling at the other end. 

“I didn’t try anything today, you know,” Charles says, changing the subject. “Not so much as a stubbed toe.”

“Excellent,” Erik replies sincerely. “That’s four weeks tonight since you were first admitted. Well,” he adds, checking the date on the phone’s screen, “four weeks and a day, now.” 

Charles clears his throat, and Erik wonders if he’s suppressing a laugh. “The sun hasn’t even risen yet, Erik. There’s still a lot of time to do some damage.” 

“Or a lot of time not to.” 

Charles falls silent again, and Erik closes his eyes, waiting for him to respond. 

“I don’t see you tomorrow,” Charles says finally. “Today. Saturday,” he amends. 

“Would you like to?” 

More silence, then, “…possibly.” 

Erik nods, forgetting that Charles can’t see him. “Then I will ‘possibly’ be in my office tomorrow at our usual time. Just in case.” 

“Just in case,” Charles echoes, his words disintegrating into a yawn. Erik just smiles and slides back under the covers, listening to Charles’ breathing fall into a slow, steady rhythm as they both fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casual reminder for the trigger warning tags that this fic came with, just in case. This chapter has a lot of pain and healing crammed in together and it was hard for me to write, so I'm sure for some people it may also be difficult to read. Also reminder that I've made a [playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/marymordrake/playlist/5Q179LLg04ihXXOzQJgohP). Suggested for this chapter: Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park, Underneath by Adam Lambert, Just Tonight by the Pretty Reckless.

**3 weeks later**

Erik picks his phone up on the first ring, barely glancing at the restricted ID. “You’re early tonight, Charles. It’s only—” he glances at his watch “—11:30.” 

“I’m sorry.” He trips over the three syllables as though he can’t quite wrap his tongue around them. “I tried, Erik, I really did.” 

“Charles? What’s going on?” Erik is already tugging his jacket off the coat hanger as he speaks. 

“I tried to tell you.” Charles chokes out. “You thought you could fix me, but you can’t. And now it’s too late.” 

“Where are you?” His Adidas are still by the door from his earlier run, and he crams his bare feet into them without untying the laces. “I’m coming, I’m coming right now.” Erik shrugs into his jacket, all the while keeping the phone to his ear. 

“I told you, it’s too late,” Charles repeats. “The need doesn’t stop if you ignore it, Erik, it just grows and festers until it’s all I think about and I can’t--” A strangled sound escapes Charles’ throat. “Emma always thought I was broken and suicidal. Perhaps she was right after all.” 

“No, no, just tell me where you are!” Erik pleads, struggling to keep his voice from rising in panic. “We can get through this, just like we’ve gotten through the past two months.” Erik hears an all too familiar rumbling in the background, and suddenly he knows exactly where Charles is. “You don’t need to do this!”

“You place far too much faith in me, my friend,” Charles whispers. 

The line goes dead, and Erik growls in frustration. He hits the third number on his speed dial, cursing as his trembling fingers take far too long to find the right button. “Come on, come on…”

The line picks up and Erik doesn’t wait for an answer. “My apartment. It’s Charles--” He’s barely gotten the words out when a familiar puff of deep red smoke announces Azazel’s arrival, a crisp black suit replacing his usual navy scrubs. 

“Where?” The Russian asks, extending his hand. 

Erik accepts it, simultaneously shoving his phone in his jacket pocket. “Train tracks. Somewhere close to Salem Center.” 

Azazel pauses. “I need coordinates.” 

“I don’t know!” Erik explodes. “He’s gone somewhere close, somewhere accessible, and the train’s going to be there any minute and there is no way I’m letting him do this!” 

“Right.” Azazel pulls out his Android and starts searching through the latest train schedules. He teleports them both as he searches, choosing points seemingly at random until Erik spots a figure facing the glaring lights of the oncoming train. 

“Charles!” He breaks away from Azazel and bolts for the train, only to nearly trip over his own feet as a single, commanding _STOP_ overrides his thoughts. He can’t move, can’t take even the smallest step forward, and then he realizes he doesn’t have to. Erik thrusts both hands out in front of him and focuses on the train instead of Charles, metal wheels screaming against the tracks in protest as he forces it to slow down. He pushes harder, and the train screeches to an agonizingly slow stop only a few feet from where Charles is standing. Just for good measure, Erik rips the remaining distance of metal tracks out from the ground and tosses them aside. 

Erik barely manages to keep his balance when Charles suddenly releases his hold, whether out of shock or defeat, Erik can’t quite tell. He breaks into a run, slowing as he reaches Charles to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. Charles doesn’t even seem to register the contact. Shock, then, Erik thinks. He can work with that. 

“Charles?”

At the sound of his name, Charles wheels on Erik, fury rolling off of him in waves. “It was mine.” 

Erik shakes his head, certain he’s heard him wrong. “I know you’re upset, but we need to—”

“It was mine!” Charles repeats, with more force this time. “That crash was mine, and you took it from me!” 

“You don’t mean that. Charles, you know it would have killed you.” Erik moves to take Charles’ hands and bring him closer, but Charles pushes him away and takes a step back, eyes wild. 

“Why did you have to do that?” Charles demands angrily. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? It would have been mine, and I would have been…I would have…” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence as its meaning begins to sink in. 

Erik moves forward again and wraps his arms around Charles, barely flinching as Charles slams a fist against his chest. “I could have done it! It was mine! It was my choice to make, and you took it away from me!” His words are punctuated by hoarse, racking sobs that send tremors through his body, even as he digs his nails into Erik’s coat for support.   
“But don’t you see,” Erik says softly, moving his hand up to stroke Charles’ hair. “You did make a choice, and that’s what brought me here.” 

Charles shudders and buries his face against Erik’s chest. “I didn’t mean it.” 

“I know,” Erik murmurs, but even as he speaks, he wonders if Charles is talking about the phone call or the train. When Charles doesn’t reply, he nods to Azazel, who approaches them and places his hands on both of their arms. Charles turns his head slightly, watching Azazel through watery, bloodshot eyes. 

“Where?” Azazel asks again. 

Erik closes his eyes, opens them again. “Home. My home,” he clarifies.

Azazel raises an eyebrow, but less than a moment later they are standing in the living room of Erik’s apartment. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says gruffly.

“So do I,” Erik replies quietly, then, almost as an afterthought, “Thank you.”

Azazel merely nods before leaning down to meet Charles’ eyes. “Be well, _myshka_. I don’t want to see you in another wheelchair.” He glances at Erik. “Call me—both of you—if you need anything.” He teleports from the room, leaving Erik and Charles in a haze of red, wisping smoke. 

They stand there for a long moment, until Charles sniffs and releases his grip on Erik’s coat to take a tiny step back, leaving behind a smeared bloody footprint on the hardwood floor. 

“You’re bleeding,” Erik murmurs. “I didn’t even notice you were barefoot.” 

Charles stares at the floor, either unable or unwilling to respond. 

Erik takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Come on,” he says, taking Charles’ hand in his own. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Can you walk?” 

Charles nods ever so slightly, and Erik leads him down the hall to the bathroom. Erik gestures for him to sit on the edge of the bathtub and Charles complies, his feet resting just beside the drain. Erik shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the back of the door before leaning across to run the water, murmuring an apology as Charles flinches from the ice cold temperature before it warms up. 

Erik grabs his first aid kit and a fresh light blue cloth from the hall closet before sitting next to Charles. “Give.” He reaches down and gently cups Charles’ ankle, simultaneously soaking the cloth under the tap and bringing them both to his lap. 

Most of the blood has gone down the drain already, and Erik can see that the scrapes and cuts are all superficial. He cleans from toe to heel, ensuring that all of the gravel and dirt is gone before moving on to the next foot. Charles sits impassively through the entire ordeal, staring at nothing and seemingly oblivious when the sting of antiseptic hits his open wounds.

Erik turns off the water and wraps Charles’ feet in clean gauze before lowering them to the tiled floor. He watches Charles for a moment, searching for a reaction, but Charles remains expressionless. Finally, Erik takes his hand again and leads him back down the hall to his bedroom, dropping off the first aid kit in the hall closet on the way. 

“My pajama pants will be too long for you, but it’s better than nothing.” Erik lets go of Charles and crosses the room to his dresser, rummaging through the bottom drawer until he finds what he’s looking for. He hands Charles a pair of deep red cotton pants, an untouched Christmas gift from his mother. They are definitely too long, but they’ll have to do. The white t-shirt he pulls out is too long as well, but he stacks it on top of the pants in Charles’ hands anyway. 

Charles looks at the clothes like they’re going to jump up and bite him, but it’s the first response Erik’s received since the tracks, and he’ll take what he can get. He doesn’t want to leave Charles alone even for a second, but he knows Charles won’t change if he’s standing there. 

“I’m just going to clean up the bathroom. I’ll be right back?” He phrases it as a question, though he isn’t expecting an answer. 

Charles drops the clothes on the queen size bed before mechanically unbuttoning his cardigan. Erik decides to take that as a yes and returns to the bathroom to clean up Charles’ blood. 

When Erik returns a few minutes later, Charles is sitting with his knees up in the middle of the bed, picking at the edges of the gauze on his feet. His back is against the wooden headboard, the charcoal grey comforter pooled against his toes. Erik clears his throat and Charles jumps, quickly pulling the comforter over his feet. 

Erik pretends not to notice and sits down at the edge of the bed, reaching out to trace his thumb lightly over the bags under Charles’ eyes. “You should get some sleep.”   
Much to Erik’s relief, Charles slides forward to lie down. Erik automatically pulls the comforter up, tucking him in, and is about to stand up when Charles locks his fingers around Erik’s wrist. 

“Will…will you stay?” Charles asks, his voice barely a whisper. 

Erik doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” When Charles doesn’t release him, he adds, “but you have to let go first.” 

Charles does as he’s told, and as Erik slips under the blanket, Charles immediately curls up against him. Erik tries, and fails, to stop thinking about how perfectly their bodies fit together as he strokes Charles’ hair, listening to his breathing become even before finally closing his own eyes and succumbing to exhaustion. 

~

Charles yawns and snuggles deeper under the covers, burying his face against Erik’s chest to escape the streaks of afternoon sun… _Erik’s chest_? He bolts upright and shakes his head, _I must be dreaming_ , and then the memories of last night come flooding back. He barely registers Erik sitting up next to him as he recalls the blinding lights of the train heading straight for him, and the way they blacked out as the train hit nothing but dead air. No, he amends, it hit the force of Erik’s will, protecting him even as Charles froze him in place. 

Erik’s hand closes over his own, bringing Charles back to the present. He looks down at their fingers, intertwined against crisp white sheets, and wonders again if he’s still dreaming. He glances up sharply, suddenly aware that Erik has said something to him, but he has no idea what that something was. He stares blankly at Erik, and Erik’s shoulders slump ever so slightly. Charles realizes that Erik must think he’s still in shock, and he’s probably right. Most of what happened after the train is still a blur. He’s not ready to talk about it, not here in bed with Erik, and he just wants to lean back into Erik’s arms and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

Charles blinks, and, against his better judgement, opens his mouth to speak. “I…have no idea what you just said.” 

Erik immediately looks relieved, and Charles knows he made the right decision. “I asked your favourite question,” Erik says. “How are you feeling?” 

He aches everywhere. Not physically, but emotionally, he’s drained. He feels like collapsing back under the covers and sleeping into tomorrow. He feels like curling up with Erik and staying there until he feels marginally okay again, and that makes him ache even more. 

“Can we just…bypass that completely.” Charles has the strangest sensation that his feet are bleeding, and he uncovers them to examine the damage. Nothing has soaked through, but all the same he wants to see for himself. He begins to pick at the gauze, trying to find where it ends, when he has a sudden sense of déjà vu. Last night, sitting here, knees up and picking at bandages until Erik had come back from the bathroom, and then feeling instantly guilty at being caught. 

He laughs, too loud and too suddenly filling the space between himself and Erik, and somehow that thought makes him laugh even more. A small part of him knows he really is still in shock, but he can’t stop and now he’s aching in his chest too because he can’t breathe, _oh god I can’t breathe stop it just stop_ and Erik’s arms are around him just like he wanted, rocking him back and forth until he calms down. 

Erik is murmuring something soothing into his ear, and even though Charles doesn’t hear the words he manages to take a deep, shuddering breath and release it without another manic giggle escaping his lips. 

_Why is my face wet? Am I crying?_ Charles touches two fingers to his cheek. Oh. Then, hesitating, _it hurts, Erik. How do I make it stop?_

_Baby steps, remember?_ Erik responds, tugging the duvet up around them. _Don’t think, just rest now._

Charles closes his eyes, and, turning his face into the crook of Erik’s throat, attempts to drift off to sleep again. 

~

Erik doesn’t remember falling asleep again, but his eyes snap open the moment Charles starts to shift in his arms. He braces for the worst, but Charles seems eerily calm as he extracts himself from Erik’s embrace and pulls his knees to his chest. He’s staring at his feet again, Erik notices, and the bandages that are looking mildly ratty after being picked at and slept in. 

Erik knows that this has gone far beyond regular counselling. He knows that he shouldn’t have had Azazel bring Charles here, that he should be in a hospital bed and not sharing one with Erik. But he also knows that if Charles were to go back to the hospital now, he would never trust Erik again.

This isn’t therapy anymore, Erik realizes, and it would be counterproductive for him to treat it as such. This time, when he breaks the silence between them, he decides on a different approach. “Would you like some breakfast?” 

Charles glances up from his feet. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

Erik can’t help but smile at Charles’ reaction. “If it makes you feel better, we can call it lunch.” 

Charles flinches at the words “feel better”, but keeps his voice even as he answers, “Breakfast is fine.” 

The way Charles is looking at him almost makes Erik’s heart stop. All of the hope, the energy, the vibrance that he’d shown over the past few weeks has disappeared, and in its place there is…nothing. Absolutely nothing. And yet, when Erik gets out of bed, Charles immediately follows him, padding down the hall only a step behind him to the kitchen. 

In the fridge Erik finds half a carton of eggs, a tomato, leftover sliced peppers, cucumber, and an avocado. Charles watches him, curiosity replacing the despondence Erik had seen only a few moments ago. 

“Omelettes?” Charles asks, backing against the sink for Erik to walk past. 

Erik turns to retrieve the loaf of challah bread on the shelf behind him, before reaching across Charles to get a knife from the drawer. “Not quite. Would you grab the olive oil? It’s in the cupboard there.” 

Charles complies, standing on his toes to reach the top shelf. His fingers curl under the counter’s edge for balance as he reaches for the bottle and passes it to Erik. 

“Thanks.” Erik moves to close the drawer he’d just opened, but pauses when he sees where Charles’ hand still rests. “Watch your fingers.” 

Charles looks down and drops his hand immediately. “I’m sorry.” He takes one step back, then another. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright—”

“No it isn’t,” Charles interrupts, clenching his fists at his sides. “It’s just one in a long list of habits that I thought I had finally broken. But here I am again, trying to break my fingers instead. I’m trying, I really am, to be with you right now because it’s all I want but I still can’t resist those same habits and there’s nothing you can do about it! I’m never going to change, I’m never going to—”

Erik grabs Charles by the shoulders and kisses him, cutting him off midsentence. Slowly, Charles relaxes under Erik’s grip and snakes his arms around Erik’s waist. Erik gently cups Charles’ face, thumbs stroking Charles’ cheekbones as he deepens the kiss. 

“Do you know what I want?” Erik murmurs against Charles’ mouth. “I want all of you. All of your pain and fear, your hope, your heart…” he trails off as Charles kisses him again, soft and hesitating. 

_I’m yours. I think I always have been. But I don’t have much of a heart left to give._

_You have more than you realize._

Charles shakes his head slightly, disbelieving, and is about to speak when his stomach growls. 

Erik raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should get back to making breakfast now, hmm?”

~

Breakfast, much to Charles’ delight, is high life huevos with salsa on challah bread. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until Erik cracked the eggs into the centre of the bread and Charles could smell them sizzling in the frying pan. 

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” he asks between bites. 

Erik smiles, evidently pleased that Charles is nearly devouring his meal. “My mother taught me. She always said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” 

Charles swallows hard. “So you…you told your parents?”

“Of course. I was always very close to them, especially my mother.”

Charles doesn’t reply, the words _freak_ and _mutie_ and _no son of mine_ echoing in his mind. His mother had feared and taunted him for his mutation, and deliberately turned a blind eye to the abuse Charles had suffered from his stepfather and stepbrother. He didn’t want to think about how much worse things could have been if she’d known about his sexuality. 

“Charles? Are you alright?” Erik puts his fork down. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Charles returns his attention to his plate. “Where are they now?”

Now it’s Erik’s turn to look away. “My mother died almost five years ago. And my father…he’s not well. I visit sometimes, but he gets angry easily, and its hard to have a conversation when we both have a short temper.” 

“I’m sorry,” Charles shifts uncomfortably. He should have known, from the way Erik used the past tense, not to pry, and now he’s made things irreparably awkward. 

“Don’t be,” Erik reaches across the table to cover Charles’ hand with his own, but Charles snatches it away and pushes his chair back. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a shower.” And stop dredging up each other’s painful childhood memories at the breakfast table. 

Erik studies him for a moment, but Charles carefully keeps his eyes lowered. He wishes they could just go back to chess games and dancing, before there was a world beyond the hospital to worry about. 

“We can still do those things,” Erik says, and Charles realizes he’s been speaking his thoughts aloud. 

“It’s not the same.” 

“Why? Because you’re not in a hospital bed? Because you actually have the chance to go outside instead of living in your own head?”

Charles finally meets Erik’s eyes. “And look what I did when I went outside! I didn’t just walk out into traffic, Erik. I walked into the path of a train. And here you are, telling me you want to be with me, but for all you know I could kill myself tomorrow. You don’t deserve that kind of loss again.” 

“You could,” Erik admits. “But you won’t. You’re not suicidal, Charles.” 

“Recent events say otherwise.” 

“You may have ended up on those tracks because you wanted to die, but you also called me because you want a reason to live.” 

Charles doesn’t know what to say. Of course Erik sees right through him, he always has. Charles can argue until he’s blue in the face, and it won’t change the way that Erik feels about him. Suddenly, realization hits Charles harder than an SUV. _Nothing is going to change the way he feels about me._ He slowly stands from the table, wincing on his bandaged feet. Why hadn’t he noticed how much they hurt earlier? 

Because you were in shock, he reminds himself. And now that things are becoming clear, you’re starting to actually feel things again. 

“Charles.” Erik is on his feet and at Charles’ side, concern plain on his face and, Charles unabashedly observes, in his thoughts. 

Instead of replying, Charles grabs the front of Erik’s shirts and drags him down into a deep, lingering kiss. Erik’s fingers trail over Charles’ jawline before tangling in his hair and pulling him in closer but not close enough Charles thinks, palms flat against Erik’s chest as he explored downwards and tugs at the hem of his t-shirt. _Give me all of you,_ he whispers into Erik’s mind, and Erik is breaking apart from him, removing first his own shirt, then pulling Charles’ over his head before their lips meet again and Erik breathes “I belong to you” and they’re the sweetest words Charles has ever heard.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a little fluff and rehabilitation, I think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all of your lovely comments and kudos, it means the world to me that so many of you are enjoying this! And of course there is a [playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/marymordrake/playlist/5Q179LLg04ihXXOzQJgohP)! Suggested listening: "Just a Little Bit" by Kids of 88, and "True Believer" by Dragonette. At this point just listen to the whole thing, nothing is spoilery anymore!

Charles is smiling. Actually smiling. He can’t remember the last time he felt this alive, and more importantly this loved. He reaches down and runs his fingers through Erik’s hair, a comforting gesture to both of them as Erik kisses the newly blossomed bruises on Charles’ stomach, hips, pelvis, murmuring apologies against his skin.

“Don’t apologize,” Charles says softly. “I wanted you to hurt me.”

“I know.” Erik shifts up so that they’re shoulder to shoulder, which Charles takes as an invitation curl up against Erik’s chest.

“Then stop apologizing. If I’m not allowed to do it, neither are you.”

“Even so. I should have been more careful.”

“Why? You didn’t do half the damage of the cars I walked in front of. And this kind of high is infinitely better,” Charles adds, and then stiffens. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Now it’s Erik’s turn to smile. “I suppose that makes us both addicts, then.” He presses a kiss to the top of Charles’ head, and Charles relaxes again. Not because of what Erik said aloud, but because he’s thinking God I love you so much and Charles could so easily just slip into Erik’s mind and stay there, wrapping himself in those thoughts like a security blanket.

_Nothing is stopping you from doing just that._

Charles rests his chin on Erik’s collarbone to meet his gaze. “And what if I wanted to do something else? What if I’ve decided I’ve spent too much time in bed?”

Erik raises an eyebrow. “Then I’d say perhaps we should start with a shower.”

Charles rolls over and kicks the gauze off of his feet before getting out of bed. “Come on, then.” He shivers and snatches Erik’s shirt off of the floor, shrugging it on and buttoning the three middle buttons.

“Where did you get all of this energy from?” Erik stretches lazily and follows Charles’ lead, picking up the gauze left on the floor. “And why are you getting dressed for a shower?”

“I think the answer to both of those is that you get to undress me again in about 3 minutes.”

“I do like the sound of that.”

Under the almost too hot spray of water, Charles laughs as Erik shoves him against the tiled wall and hoists him up, Charles automatically wrapping his legs around Erik's waist like he belongs there, like it was always meant to be this way. Erik moves slowly, gently at first, reluctant to obey Charles' breathless demands of _harder, make it hurt, make me hurt_ , until Charles braces his palms on Erik's shoulders and presses his heels into Erik's lower back, forcing him as deep as he will go, and Erik loses control, loses himself as he slams into Charles, giving him exactly what he begged for. Afterwards, When Charles' feet hit the floor of the bathtub again, slipping slightly as he regains his balance, Erik is sure to wash every part of him, slowly, reverently, as though he's afraid one wrong move will shatter the man in his arms. 

Charles doesn't say so, but having Erik take care of him like this makes him feel ashamed of the way he begged for the pain. It was a reflex, because he craved the impact of Erik slamming into him like he craved the impact of a vehicle. Well, maybe not just like that, and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. 

A kiss to his scarred fingers brings Charles back to the present, and he nods slightly as Erik reaches for the faucet, expression questioning. The tiny bathroom is full of steam when they emerge, and Charles wraps himself in a huge, fluffy white towel as he absently doodles Hello on the fogged up mirror. 

Refusing Erik's offer of borrowed clothing, Charles finds comfort in slipping back into his own black pants and worn navy blue sweater, the one with the patches on the elbows that Raven always made fun of. She said they made him look like a university professor, and Charles always scoffed at that, thinking a career like that was well out of his reach. But now? Now he's not so certain. He is aware of Erik asking him something again, and he shakes his head. 

“Sorry, I wasn't listening,” Charles offered a sheepish smile, hoping it would cover is anxiety but knowing Erik would see through it. 

Erik chooses not to comment on Charles' umpteenth apology. “I said I'm going to clean up our breakfast from earlier, and you can decide what you want to do.” 

Charles follows him to out to the living area and notices the door to the balcony for the first time. It's still daylight when he steps onto the cool cement and crosses the short distance to the railing. This is the first time since he arrived that he really knows where he is, vaguely recognizing streets and storefronts from seven floors up. He doesn't look up as Erik pads out onto the balcony and leans his forearms on the railing beside him. They stay there in comfortable silence for a minute or so, and then Charles points eastward. “Can we go there?” 

Erik's gaze falls on the small public park that has caught Charles' attention. It's only two blocks away and seems empty of other people. “I'll find you some shoes.” 

~

As they wait for the traffic light to turn green, Charles finds himself slipping into an old habit of analyzing each vehicle for a potential hit. Honda CR-V? Been there. Chevy Equinox? Done that. That brand new Dodge Ram speeding towards the green light, however, that could do some real damage. He takes a step forward—and feels Erik's hand tighten around his own. When Charles glances up at him, Erik is staring straight ahead, feigning nonchalance, but his thought are another matter entirely. 

_Don't even think about it._

_Old habits_ , Charles replies. 

The truck Charles had his eye on passes uninhibited, and, when the light changes, the pair continue on their way, Erik's grip still tight as though afraid that Charles will bolt any second. Charles, however, is looking at Erik the entire way across, reminding himself that he has a reason to keep going, and that reason is holding his hand so tightly that Charles is losing feeling in his fingers. When they hit the sidewalk again, Erik relaxes again, but only slightly. Charles can feel the relief rolling off of him in waves as they continue walking. 

“I...I can't help it,” Charles ventures. “It's like an ingrained response. Even after everything, I can't seem to quit.”

“I know,” Erik tells him. “To be honest. I didn't want you to go out today.” 

Charles stares at him, but before he can say anything, Erik continues. “But this isn't about what I want. You asked to go out today, so we are. You're making decisions for yourself that don't involve walking into traffic, and I'm not going to stand in your way. But I'm sure as hell going to be the one to hold your hand.” 

When they reach the next corner, Charles is the one who tightens his grip, inching closer so that their forearms touch. Don't look at the cars, don't think about the cars, just wait for the light to turn green. Any second now...He reaches to his left to press the crosswalk button. 

“Charles.” 

The light is still red, and Charles starts tapping his foot anxiously, trying not to eyeball the Ford Explorer heading their way. 

“Charles, stay with me now.” 

Erik's voice cuts through Charles' panicked thoughts and he grabs the lapels of Erik's peacoat, standing on tiptoe to draw him into a deep, unyielding kiss. It's crushing and breathless and consuming and when Charles finally pulls away, flushed and shyly biting his lower lip, he's nearly forgotten that they're in the middle of the street. Erik's eyes sparkle with amusement as Charles, noticing the light is finally green, links their hands again and starts walking, looking anywhere but at Erik. 

“I don't suppose we could do that every time I need to cross a street.”

“I'd be alright with that,” Erik answers with a grin. “And look, we made it.” 

Sure enough, the shops and cafes have disappeared, and they're surrounded by skeletal, frostbitten trees. It's just a tiny parkette, featuring a swing set, metal slide, and a couple of benches, but for Charles this little space of green signifies a massive success. He lets go of Erik's hand to approach the swings, sitting down and pushing off from the patch of gravel under his feet. He feels himself gaining momentum a little faster than he should, and smiles softly once he realizes it's Erik giving him a little extra push. 

Erik sits down on the swing beside him, rocking back and forth while his feet remain planted on the ground, his focus entirely on Charles. Charles closes his eyes, enjoying the cool, crisp breeze in his face and the steady rhythm of back and forth, back and forth that Erik has set for him. 

“I crossed the street today,” Charles muses, eyes still closed. 

“Mmhmm,” Erik agrees. 

“Two of them, actually,” Charles adds. 

“Yes.” 

“I made it to the other side both times.” 

“I'm proud of you.” Erik glances over at the metal slide and raises a gloved hand in its direction. It melts and swirls into smooth, fluid curls of aluminum, which Erik starts shaping chess pieces. A pawn to start, simple and straightforward. Then the rook, taking the time to perfect its sharp angles. Charles opens his eyes and watches as the rook becomes a queen, taller and leaner than the rook, then shifts into a knight, the details of its face slowly taking shape. 

“That is incredible,” Charles breathes. “I've never seen you use your powers like that before.” 

Erik shrugs. “I practice a lot in my spare time.” He picks up on Charles' mental cues and slows his swing to a stop. Charles stands and tentatively walks towards the knight, now the same height as Charles himself. He strokes the horse's metal mane, and jumps as it moves beneath his touch. Under Erik's direction, the knight becomes a proper horse, complete with a fine silver mane and beady eyes that stare right into Charles' own. Charles strokes the stallion's nose, laughing under his breath as it nuzzles his palm. 

“The way it changes shape reminds me of—oh God. Raven!” Charles runs his hands through his already disshevelled hair as panic washes over him. “She doesn't know where I am, she doesn't even know I left the house last night, what am I supposed to tell her?” 

“Hey, slow down,” Erik strides over to him and takes Charles in his arms. “We'll go back to the apartment and call her. I'll even talk to her if you like.” 

“No,” Charles shakes his head. “I'll do it.”

“Okay.” Erik wills the horse back into its regular slide shape before leading Charles back to the main street. 

Charles isn't even paying attention on the way back when they cross both streets again or when they get back to Erik's building and take the elevator up. He has no idea how he's going to tell his sister what happened. Hey, it's me. No, I'm fine I'm just staying over at Erik's. Also, I tried to kill myself. He's not sure which will shock her more, the attempted suicide or the fact that he's staying with Erik. And speaking of Erik, why hadn't he mentioned Raven before? 

“I've been more caught up in taking care of you than anything else,” Erik explains when Charles asks him. “But I'm sure Azazel spoke to her when she inevitably phoned the hospital.” 

“Azazel?” 

“He teleported us here last night.” Erik hands Charles the cordless phone. “It's alright if you don't remember. It was a stressful time for you, to say the least.” 

Charles only nods and takes the phone from him before heading back to the bedroom. He sits down on the edge of the bed as he dials, thankful that Erik has taken his silent hint and remained in the other room. 

Raven picks up on the first ring. “Hello? Charles?” 

Charles squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again. “Hello, Raven.” 

“Charles, where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick!” Raven's voice is hoarse and cracked, and Charles briefly wonders if she's been crying. “I called the hospital about ten thousand times and drove the receptionist up the wall asking about you.”

“Raven.” 

“Then I get this call from Azazel, telling me not to worry, that you're safe, and I ask him how he knows but he says he can't tell me more than that! Like it's not my business where my own brother is? I'm going crazy with worry already!” 

“Raven!” Charles pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep himself from getting worked up, but it's hard when her voice is getting louder and louder in his ear. “I went out for a hit last night.” 

“Jesus, Charles, you were doing so well!” 

“...on the train tracks,” he finishes meekly. 

Raven is quiet for a long time. Charles waits, silently counting a full sixty seconds until she finally replies. “Are you...are you safe? I mean, how did you...” 

“Survive?” Charles swallows hard. He can hear her sniffing and pacing, probably in her bedroom. “I'm with Erik now. He stopped the train. He stopped me.” 

More silence. Then, “Are you coming home?” 

“I can't. Not yet, anyway,” Charles admits. “I need to figure some things out on my own first.” 

“You mean, with Erik.” 

This time, it's Charles that lapses into silence. 

“Look,” Raven sighs. “I'm hurt that you didn't wake me up last night, and that you didn't think you could come to me. And I'm sorry that there's been some friction between us over the past couple of years. But you and Erik, that's a once in a lifetime thing. And I guess I have him to thank for literally saving your life. If you need some time away, I can understand that. At least I know you're safe, and you know that I'll be here waiting if you decide to come home.” 

“Wow. Um.” Charles flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Thank you.” 

“Just take care of yourself, okay? Frankly, I want to drive over to wherever you are right now and come get you, because the thought of leaving you alone after what you just told me is absolutely terrifying.” 

“But I'm not alone.” 

“I know. And that's why I'm giving you some space. Clearly Erik is doing for you what no one else has ever been able to before.”

“He takes care of me. And he makes me want to keep going.” 

“Are you in love with him?” 

“What?” 

“Do. You. Love. Him,” Raven repeats, emphasizing every word. 

Charles exhales heavily. “Yes. Yes, I am so terribly in love with him it hurts the heart I didn't know I had. Oh, that's the first time I've said that. Raven, what do I do?”

She laughs, but it sounds forced, and now Charles can tell for sure that she's been crying. “Now you tell him.” 

“How am I supposed to tell him that I've loved him since our first session together and I literally can't live without him?” Too late, Charles feels a familiar mental presence in the doorway. Erik always has been good at sneaking up on him. And too late, Charles is sitting up, stammering nonsense to Raven. “I-I-um--”

Erik gently takes the phone from him and puts it to his ear. “Raven? Charles will have to call you back.” 

Charles is still stuttering, his face flushing a deep red. “Erik, I didn't mean for you to—that is, Raven was just, I was--” 

And then Erik is kissing him, one hand at the small of his back while the other cups and strokes his cheek. Charles wraps his arms around Erik's neck to close what little distance is between them, wanting more, pushing himself into Erik's mind even as Erik teases into Charles' mouth with his tongue and he catches bits of _yes Charles love you let me in love you_ and he gasps the words against Erik's lips, barely a whisper but still an affirmation and that's all it takes for Erik to push him back on the bed, murmuring those same three words against his lips, neck, throat over and over again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue, of sorts. I'm not actually done with this, but I also want to get back on two of my other fics, "I Wanna Take you to the Gay Bar" and "Count to Three" soooo this one is getting capped for the time being. Also I just plotted out a post-Apocalypse/sort of AU fic and I want to write it. Thank you again to everyone who's been reading and commenting and loving this!

The next morning, Charles snuggles up into Erik's throat, nosing against his jawline until Erik sleepily turns over to meet his lips. Charles hums contentedly and rests his head on Erik's shoulder. 

“I wish every morning was just like this one,” he murmurs absently. 

“That could be arranged,” Erik answers, a contented smile playing across his lips.

Charles flinches, but quickly recovers himself, while Erik pretends not to notice.

“After all,” Erik continues carefully, fingers tracing the curve of Charles' hip beneath the blanket, “we do fit so perfectly together.” 

“I don't know if I could, that is, if we should...” he pauses, searching for the right words, and settles for, “I'm far from perfect.” 

“And you're running in circles,” Erik says, rolling over so that their noses are almost touching. “Let me make this simple for you right now.” 

“But--” Erik shushes him with a finger to his lips. 

“Are you happy right now?” Erik asks. 

“I...yes,” Charles admits, blushing slightly. Erik finds this absolutely adorable, especially since he's explored every inch of Charles inside and out and yet Charles could still find a reason to be embarrassed. 

“Do you want to be together?” 

“More than I've ever wanted anything.” 

“Good.” He kisses Charles then, soft and lingering, and adds, “because I seem to have fallen entirely in love with you, and not about to let your self-deprecation get in the way.”

Charles' breath catches in his throat, and he has to gather himself before he speaks. “Say that again.” 

Erik can't help but grin. “I love you. And there's nothing you can do to change that.” 

Another pause. “Okay,” Charles says finally.

“Okay?” 

“Okay,” he repeats, shoving every ounce of emotion he has into those two syllables, hoping it's enough. He's having difficulty saying the words in return, despite the ease with which he breathed them against Erik's skin last night, but Erik doesn't seem to mind. He kisses Charles again, but this time Charles pulls away before things get heated. “This is a big change.” 

“Yes,” Erik agrees. “But a good one, for both of us.” 

Charles chews his lower lip thoughtfully, trying to ignore the tendrils of anxiety licking at the corners of his mind. “It's a long term change.” 

“Right again.” Erik's brow furrows with concern. “But you don't think you have a long term.”

“I thought I was the mind-reader,” Charles quips weakly. His chest feels tight, and he takes a couple of slow, shallow breaths to keep himself calm.

“Why don't you stay for another couple of nights, and then we'll go from there,” Erik offers, resting his palm on the curve of Charles' hip. “No commitment, no timeline. Just think of it as a kind of vacation.”

Charles turns the idea over in his mind. “I could maybe handle that. Just a couple of nights?” 

“That's it.” 

Charles exhales heavily. He can rationalize this. As much as he wants this to be permanent, he's not quite ready to admit that he has a real future. “I need to go back to the house, though. For a change of clothes, and a pair of shoes might be useful.” 

“Alright. But later. Right now...” Erik slips his hand down between Charles' legs and Charles inhales sharply, arching against his touch. “I don't think you really need either of those things.” 

Charles rolls on top of Erik, creating a friction that causes both of them to moan softly. “You realize I have an addictive personality.”

“Mm. Then we might be here for awhile.” 

~

Charles loves this. He loves that this is new and different and yet comfortable, like this is how it should be, the two of them sitting on the couch with a chessboard on the cushion between them while Erik's toes slide up Charles' calf under his borrowed pyjama bottoms. He thinks he can distract Charles from victory, but he's wrong. As he'd told Erik only moments ago, Charles always plays to win. 

“Perhaps you should apply that mentality to other aspects of your life,” Erik notes, moving his rook to capture Charles' bishop. 

“Life's not a chess game, Erik.” Charles take Erik's queen with his knight. “Checkmate.” 

“No. But the basic principles remain the same. Set your goal, form a strategy, and take what it is you want.” 

“I didn't plan any of this,” Charles gestures to Erik, and then around the apartment. “And I got exactly what I wanted.” 

“But you had an unfair advantage,” Erik points out as he resets the board. “Your opponent wanted the same thing.” 

Charles smiles at that and shakes his head. “I've been so afraid, you know, these past couple of days,” he admits, focusing on lining up his pawns as he speaks. “That you didn't show up in time, and I--” he drops the pawn he's holding, and Erik stops the metal piece in midair, moving it into place on the board with a thought. “I am...terrified that I'm in a coma in the hospital, and this is all a dream. I wonder if I'll ever wake up, and if I even want to.” 

Erik picks up the chessboard and sets it on the coffee table next to them before shifting forward and taking Charles' shaking hands in his own. “First of all, I can assure you that this is entirely real.” 

“That's exactly what a dream would say,” Charles can't tell if his increased heart rate is from stress or Erik's sudden proximity, but since he's starting to feel something that he assumes is akin to cardiac arrest, he's almost certain it's the former. 

“And second,” Erik continues, “you have a history of dissociation. It's what made walking into traffic so easy for you. You cut out the parts of your life that were healthy and became completely disconnected from any reality that didn't equate to pain and negativity.”

“I let you in.” 

“In a hospital setting. A place that felt normal and safe for you. And now here you are, in a relationship that's not clinical, in an apartment instead of a hospital, doing something normal and fun. None of these things were real to you even a week ago, no matter how much progress we've made in your therapy.” 

Charles moves into Erik' lap, sliding either leg over Erik's thighs so that his waist is framed by the loose angles of Charles' bent knees. “But I want this to be real.” 

“And so it is.” 

“I want this to be real without being scared that it's not,” Charles clarifies. “When we're close like this, I feel grounded. Tangible.” He drapes his arms over Erik's shoulders and kisses him, as though emphasizing his point. “When we touch, when we...when we're together, is when I feel most alive.” His voice has dropped to barely a whisper as Erik trails kisses down his jawline, neck, pushes fabric aside to reach his shoulder. 

“You crave the physical because it's all you know,” Erik's teeth graze his throat, causing Charles' breath to hitch. “you depend on the impact to give you life.” 

“You mean pain.” 

“And you think they're one and the same. Sex is a new, better kind of crash to you. You said it yourself.” 

“You say that like it's a bad thing.” Charles raises his arms to let Erik remove his t-shirt. “And yet you indulge me.” 

“Because I love you.” 

“And?” His fingers travel down to the drawstring of Erik's navy pyjama pants. 

“Because I'd rather it be me hurting you than the oncoming traffic.” 

“And?” Charles already knows, he can see the words at the forefront of Erik's mind. 

_Because I need you as much as you need me_. 

That's what Charles was looking for. He needs to know that it's okay to want this, to need this, because the more stable of the two of them feels the same way. Maybe he can stay here, just for awhile. The thought of sleeping by himself again almost makes him shudder. 

“Charles?” There's that inquiring tone, the one that Erik uses when he's trying not to sound worried even though in his mind he's reviewing every awful scenario of Charles retreating into himself. hurting himself again. 

Charles blinks, focuses, and remembers that he was literally in the process of getting into Erik's pants. “Um.” He withdraws his hands and Erik immediately takes them in his own, rubbing his thumbs over Charles' knuckles. “I think I want to go back to the house now. Pick up some things, so that I can stay. With you.” 

Erik grins, instantly relieved. “I'd like that.” 

~

Despite his earlier resolve, Charles find himself reluctant to actually get out of the car and walk into his house. It seems bigger to him than it ever has, after spending the past few days in a much smaller apartment. A cursory mental scan reveals that Raven isn't home, and for that Charles is grateful. He just wants to get in, pack a bag, and get out as quickly as possible. But first, he needs to get out of the car. 

“Are you ready for this?” Erik asks him. 

Charles unfastens his seatbelt and opens the passenger door. “Let's find out.” 

Erik has driven around the circular driveway to the main entrance, and the distance from car to front door is a little too short for Charles' liking. He reaches for the doorknob, only to find that it's locked. Of course. Raven's not here, and he hadn't thought to grab his keys before he left, because he also hadn't expected to come back. 

“The old servants' entrance is usually unlocked around this time. We could--” he stops, watches as Erik reaches out a hand and there is an audible click as the door unlocks and cracks open. “Showoff,” Charles says, but he's smiling. He loves when Erik uses his powers so casually, and in a way he finds it comforting. 

“Raven's not here.” Charles' voice echoes in the empty foyer as they walk inside, while Erik turns around slowly, marvelling at the enormity of the house. The high ceilings, the seemingly endless hallways, the wide staircase leading up to a landing where streaks of sunlight filter through curtains that are easily over double Erik's height. The steps branch off in opposite directions from there, and Erik has no doubt that they lead to more rooms than he can imagine. 

Charles is already halfway up the stairs when Erik finishes his full 360, and he takes them two at a time to catch up. “My room's upstairs,” Charles is saying. “It's not far, I never liked travelling in crutches.” 

“The fact that it's even upstairs is a testament to your masochistic nature.” Erik follows him up to the second floor and down a hallway where nearly every door is closed. “Are those all bedrooms?” 

Charles nods. “Mostly unused, but for that one year I started choosing rooms at random to sleep in.” 

“Why? Just to liven things up a bit?” 

Charles stops in front of the only open door and glances sideways at Erik. “No. To get away from Cain.” 

Erik's expression darkens. “I wish I was there for you then.” 

Charles slips his hand into Erik's and gently tugs him into the bedroom. “You're here for me now.” 

“Come here.” Their fingers intertwine as Erik draws him in for a kiss, punctuated by mental whispers of _love you, can't get enough of you, Charles my Charles_ and Charles responds in earnest, his free hand cupping the back of Erik's neck and Erik is backing him up as he teases his tongue into Charles' mouth until they hit a bookshelf directly across from the bed. 

Charles can't think, doesn't want to think when Erik takes control like this, tasting, exploring, and Charles is drowning in his touch until--

 _WOW that is a side of my brother I did NOT want to see MY EYES oh god_

“Raven!” Charles catches her hasty exit over Erik's shoulder, blonde hair just disappearing from view. 

“I'll be downstairs,” Raven calls back, already sounding even further away. 

“I should, ah...” Charles blushes, embarrassed by Raven's intrusion. In response, Erik gently kisses him once more and does up the top two buttons of Charles' shirt, which Charles barely remembers him unbuttoning. 

“Hang on.” Charles shuffles out of the space between Erik and the bookcase and kneels down to reach under his bed. He retrieves a tan leather Ted Baker duffel bag, somewhat dusty but already packed and ready. “This is all I need.” 

Erik raises an eyebrow, but chooses not to ask. Even so, Charles answers his unspoken question. “Contingency plan. For extended hospital visits, or the day i finally got up the nerve to leave this place.” 

“It seems that the latter has happened first.” 

Charles only nods and slings the bag over his shoulder. “I should speak to my sister before we go.” 

When they return downstairs, Raven is sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the counter as she texts one of her friends. She's still blonde and fair skinned, her usual shape for anyone other than Charles and, more recently, Azazel. 

“You don't have to take that form on my account,” Erik says, by way of a greeting. 

Raven glances up from her phone and narrows her eyes at him, but shifts back into her natural blue self. “I forget when I can and can't be blue sometimes.” 

“Hopefully one day it won't matter.” 

Raven smiles at that, and turns her attention to Charles, nodding at the bag on her shoulder. “So are you leaving for good?” 

“It's just a few nights. Like a vacation.” Charles repeats Erik's earlier proposition. 

“If you say so.” Raven stands and, leaving her phone at the table, walks over to Charles. She pulls him into a tight embrace, causing him to drop his bag on the tiled floor. “I know I wasn't always the most understanding or patient with you.” her voice cracks as she speaks. “And I'm sorry that you felt you couldn't come to me for help when you needed it most.”

“None of this was your fault. You need to know that,” Charles tells her softly. “You've always done the best you could, even when I was at my worst.” 

Raven shakes her head as she releases him. “It's amazing how much you've changed, you know that? And you,” she eyeballs Erik over Charles' shoulder. “Thank you for saving my brother's life, and for taking care of him. But I swear to god if you hurt him there is no place on this earth that you will be safe from me.” 

“Raven!” 

“What? You've finally got a good thing going here, and if it gets ripped out from under you I'll be the first to catch you when you fall. And the first in line for revenge. That being said, You trust him, so I trust him, because you've never trusted anyone like this before. Not even me.” 

“Raven--”

She holds up her hands, stopping Charles in mid-sentence. “It's okay, really. I get it, and I'm happy for you. So don't go feeling guilty when you've finally figured out how to start living your life. Got it?” 

Charles nods mutely and picks his bag up with one hand before latching on to Erik with the other. “Thank you. For everything.” 

Raven shrugs. “Don't be a stranger, okay? Call me. Or just send me a quick text saying you're still okay. Okay?” 

Charles nods again. 

“Good. I'll be at Angel's while you're gone, but I'll have my cell on me all the time, I promise.” 

A final nod, then, “Goodbye, Raven.” As Charles says the words, some part of him registers that this is final. He won't be sharing a home with Raven again, at least not anytime soon. It's time for both of them to start living.


	9. Chapter 9

This is not mine, nor was this made for this story. Credit goes to mandalay87 on tumblr as per the watermark! But all I can see is these two waking up together last chapter! Thank you again to everyone for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has made other works for this story! I cant believe how well received this one has been! Thank you to Mikanskey for the beautiful fanart, MarianWeiss3luna for the French translation and bunnytoo for the Chinese one! Check them out under related works!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art inspired by Impact Junkie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7459818) by [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/pseuds/Mikanskey)
  * [Impact Junkie - Traduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11244000) by [MarianWeiss3luna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarianWeiss3luna/pseuds/MarianWeiss3luna)
  * [撞击成瘾 Impact Junkie中文翻译](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273337) by [bunnytoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnytoo/pseuds/bunnytoo)




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